Thorn's Edge
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: Roses remain unspoiled when guarded by many Thorns. This is a tale of the bravery, camaraderie, and trials faced by a small army that would dare to stop Palamecia before all should fall to ruin. [Currently on Hiatus, "forgotten but not lost"]
1. Defense of the Wild Rose

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

Prologue: Fall of the Dragoon

Esker Senfire looked up into the gray night sky, starless due to the thick cloud covering but lit by a full moon. It was the sort of night he hated. Esker loved open skies and clear sunrises experienced on the back of a Wyvern. In moments like that, he felt certain of his course and ready for whatever lay ahead. With the current weather conditions he could not help but feel a sense of foreboding.

He silently thanked God for making him a dragoon that he would only have to pace the ramparts of a castle rather than a whole town like that of Fynn. The defense of Deist would be difficult enough in a fully military adapted environment. Not that Palamecia would be attacking anytime soon, if scouts were to be believed. Yet the Dragoons still were wary, wary enough to send Ricard out to find the Ultima tome at any rate. Dark matters were afoot and it was only a matter of time before the storm broke. It was only a rumor, but whispers were reaching Deist in large quantities that the kingdom of Palamecia was soon to become an empire. It was also thought that the soon to be emperor possessed power that was not of the world. Something of the divine...

Esker halted a moment and rested his eyes on the horizon. Deist, once blessed with grace, was not the great power it had once been. The people had grown proud and distant from the world, even though they shared the same faults. Such would bring about ruin if they did not act to change it. Danious, leader of the Dragoons, refused to bring Fynn or Kashuan into the matter, claiming there was not yet enough proof. Esker felt such to be empty talk meant only to allow the Dragoons the glory of defeating the growing threat. They felt like a chosen people, gifted with the holy sword Excalibur and the ability to command Wyverns. Who could overcome them? But in their prosperity, the Dragoons were forgetting the source of these blessings. Esker sighed and rested his hand on the spear slung across his back. If only Ricard would return.

The forest of conifers surrounding Deist castle was quiet tonight, an occurrence that would have been normal if the Wyverns were in flight. But they were not. All the Wyverns were perched upon the castle walls, looking out upon the expanse of trees with a baited breath that chilled Ekser's heart. "What are they watching for?" he whispered to his Wyvern, Reiswim, as he approached him; talking openly did not seem permissible given the grim mood. "What news does the wind bring?"

"The Enemy moves closer," Reiswim rumbled in his low voice, his words only decipherable due to the Dragoon pendant that Esker wore, "But they wait, and this troubles us most of all. They have mustered all their forces and yet they wait on the shore. The night is ripe for their attack and yet they wait."

Esker put his hand on Reiswim's left flank, just above the wing. "With their current numbers a defense should be possible," he attempted to assure the Wyvern. Most Dragoons would simply take the word of the Wyvern but Esker treated Reiswim as a friend rather than a superior. "Perhaps they would rather wait for dawn as well. After all, even in the dark we still have an advantage so why risk it? They aren't as brash as they... seem." Esker trailed off as his mount's breathing became irregular, "What is it, Reiswim?"

It seemed as if the whole Wyvern populace had begun to heave and sway, fighting to stay erect. "Their scent has vanished,"Reiswim rasped, his voice becoming hoarse. "It is most peculiar that..." he shuddered under Esker's hand as a wave of convulsions ran through his body. "I... understand now," he groaned, "The water..."

"The water?" Esker asked, his voice rising above the whisper he had previously maintained, "what about the water? Has it been...?"

"Poisoned," Reiswim was almost snarling, clearly attempting to regain control of his limbs, "Were it for humans we would have been able to detect it. We did not know a poison existed that could fell a Wyvern."

"They chose something our mages would not be able to warn us about nor counter act," Esker hissed, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach not unlike the first cracks formed on thin ice. "And without Wyverns we will be..."

"Doomed." Reiswim finished in a harsh gasp. He had now given up on mastering his trembling wings and legs, allowing himself to sink into a spasmodic heap.

Esker felt his mind racing for a way to stop what was happening. Deist was falling and the Empire had barely raised a finger. "The Lifespring Grotto," he stated, trying to keep a calm head, "if we can get you to that, you should be alright."

Reiswim looked up at Esker and nodded weakly as the Dragoon carefully mounted him. With a second effort, the Wyvern demanded enough control over himself to take to the skies. Others tried to follow his lead but most were simply falling into the forest below. Still, at least seven other Dragoons had been able to execute the same idea; although it remained to be seen whether or not they could make it to their destination.

Esker's thoughts centered on his mount, not daring to leave for a moment. Once they reached the Lifespring Grotto they would have to fly in through the opening used by the hatchlings, taking the conventional route would take too long. Once inside the Lifespring, the Wyverns would go into a short hibernation to focus their energies on healing; if the Dragoons followed they would likely drown. Dragoon armor was lighter than most, but still too burdensome to effectively swim in. Thus, Esker would be taking the long way down and hope that Reiswim lived long enough to make it to the source of life in Wyverns.

As the mountain that housed the grotto came into view, Esker followed through on his plan, giving Reiswim one last touch, he let himself fall from the saddle towards the meadow below. A normal man would probably die from the descent, or at least be severely injured. A Dragoon still had to employ years of training but it was possible and that was what mattered at the moment. Ordinarily, a large portion of the impact would be absorbed by whatever creature was unfortunate enough to be on the wrong end of the spear, but in this case Esker would have to improvise.

Turning his back towards the target location, he tipped his spear towards the mountain. As the polearm came in contact with the ground at a slight angle, Esker used the downwards momentum to bring himself full circle in a slingshot maneuver, dissipating the fatal kinetic energy into horizontal motion. A spear of common workmanship would have snapped under the stress of the action but the time invested into the creation of a Dragoon's spear ensured it only bent slightly before lifting out of the ground after him. Not letting that speed go to waste, he landed with his legs running as he took off for the entrance to the cavern that held the blessed water. The Dragoons whose Wyverns had also made the distance were dismounting in similar fashion, joining him in his mad dash.

The only sounds between the group of warriors were their soft footfalls and a fierce chorus of staggered breath. Esker cursed the labyrinth of stairways and rock hewn hallway that prolonged their reunion with their winged companions. It could be worse though, they could have enemies in the grotto.

Such a statement should have been saved for after the last corner had been turned. The cavern surrounding the Lifespring was filled with Chimeras, fiends that more resembled a mass of creatures stitched together into a nightmarish mound of fangs than anything else. Creatures that had disappeared from the face of the earth for nearly two hundred years after being hunted into extinction by the dragoons. The natural enemy and predator of the Wyvern.

Esker fell to his knees, his strength vanishing just as the blessing on the dragoons had. His heart still wanted to believe that Reiswim had turned around and escaped but his logical side realized that without his sense of smell his friend would have flown right into the trap. It truly was over, the Wyverns that had stayed at the castle stood a better chance of survival than the ones here... without air power and their numbers halved, the kingdom of Deist could no longer repel the full on assault of the Empire, not without a miracle.

He wanted to scream with fury at the whole blasted situation but the breath would not come. And slowly but surely, every one of the monstrous Chimeras' eyes were settling upon him. Would this be his end? He was in no shape mentally to fight alone. But perhaps his anger would be enough...

No, it was reliance on such things that had driven the Dragoons away from God. They had relied upon the fruit of the blessings rather than the tree and now they had wandered too far from the source. Was this then retribution? Was there no way to escape the divine wrath they had awakened?

"Esker, get up."  
>The other dragoons had arrived. Phillip Stillbren, one of the King's lieutenants stood at their head, looking onwards to the hive of Chimeras. "We can at least avenge them."<p>

Esker slowly nodded, using his spear as support to drag himself to his feet. They would fight, if for nothing else then for their fallen mounts. The Chimeras were prowling closer, studying the new threat with curious, if hungry, eyes. Esker stared right back and lifted his weapon with his brethren; he had often wondered where and why he would meet his end. Here seemed as good a place as any.

* * *

><p>"The skies are clearing," Prince Scott Kashuan called to his brother from the balcony. The storm was moving on northward at last. It felt as if a dark shadow had passed them over, an unspoken evil that had loomed above before being driven away by the bright full moon. And yet, Scott still felt apprehensive, he would have to pay Count Borghen a visit soon and ensure that the Bafsk province was secure. Reports of old fiends reappearing had tensions ripening all around and the royal family of Kashuan had never sat idly by when danger approached.<p>

"You don't suppose they'll stay clear for long, do you?" Prince Gordon asked as he came out to join his brother. Gordon was of a melancholic demeanor and seemed to fear the worst in everything, even more so than Scott.

"It will stay clear long enough, brother," Scott assured him, "We must meet with our allies though, something is going on in Palamecia. Something dark..."

"Is it imminent?"

Scott looked his brother in the eye and smiled, "No, we'll have time. Palamecia may have a large military but they cannot match that of Kashuan. Or even Deist for that matter. They won't dare anything for some time yet. No, for now there is still peace in the world and the Sunfire of Kashuan burns bright, as it always has."

"And always will," Gordon sighed, leaning on the balcony, "You are right of course... Though it would not hurt to marshal the cavalry, would it?"

Scott laughed, "You worry too much, Gordon. All will smooth with time; soon our kingdom and that of Fynn shall be united and then Palamecia won't dare anything."  
>"So you've proposed to her then?" Gordon straightened up as he made the query.<p>

"Well... no," Scott admitted. Something was wrong, he did not often make assumptions like this and now was no time to start, "but I think Princess Hilda will have me. Don't you?"

"Yes, she is quite taken with you," Gordon murmured, slumping back into his former position.

Scott smiled again, following his gaze westward towards Fynn. Yes, with time all things would resolve. Darkness loomed on the horizon, but life was yet here to be had. When war approached, they would be ready. For now though, they would trust in the peace that their parents had inherited, the peace that had existed for years.

A peace that they hoped would last forever.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Defense of the Wild Rose<strong>

_About one year prior..._

"We will need it eventually," Imross Conlat said firmly, "No matter how permanent this peace seems we must remember that true peace can never actually exist until the return of the Savior."

The King of Fynn's patience was wearing thin, that much was evident in his stare. What Imross could not tell was whether or not the man would relent or simply have him branded a traitor to the throne and be done with it.

The King was usually a fair man, but in these times one could never be too sure of anything. Dark shadows were lurking about the borders and nobody was being open enough with each other to make an effort to stop it. Imross was not a man blessed with patience for such matters; although he loved his country, he saw little enough need for the delicate political maneuverings everyone was insisting upon. He liked things to be plain and simple, problems solved outright rather than endlessly manipulated from the shadows. Of course, a small, specialized, and covert team had its place in a conflict; but even that was more forthright than all the treaties and parleys that everyone was carefully observing and Palamecia seemed determined to circumvent.

"So, you suggest that we resurrect the order of the White Knights as a counter measure to possible offensives from our neighboring Kingdoms?" The King asked, putting into plain terms what Imross had carefully tried to make elaborate and formal as seemed most acceptable to royal taste. Not that it offended him to have it reduced, he preferred it in solid form. "A measure which could be taken as a threat to the other countries and thus provoke a war."

"War will come one way or another, we might as well be prepared for it."

The King sighed, "But it seems a self-fulfilling prophesy, Sir Conlat. In preparing for war, we would be inviting it."

Imross could have pointed out that if all the countries were not so closed to each other, such suspicions could be easily dispelled, but pressing that point would only weary the King's good favor further. "It will be done in secret then," Imross said, attempting to put more pleading into his voice in order to cover the exasperation, "A group smaller than the White Knights but just as highly trained. An elite detachment made up of members no one would suspect. With such a force we could conduct an investigation into what Palamecia is doing as well as monitor Deist. With Kashuan's aid, we could likely provide them with Chocobos for quick response and enhanced mobility."

"Do you think Kashuan would approve?"

"Prince Scott would, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders," or so Imross hoped, "with such close proximity to Palamecia I would think that they would understand our worries best of all."

"Let us suppose that this strategy succeeds," the King stated, "do such people exist that could carry it out? Your expectations seem somewhat difficult to meet."

Imross smiled, finally some headway, "I've made a list of candidates, your majesty; constructed after a few weeks of observing citizens throughout our kingdom. I have it right here, if it should please you to look over my selections."

The King reluctantly received the offered roster and began scanning the information collected. Almost immediately his dark brows lowered in bafflement, "This boy you are suggesting is only seventeen, Sir Conlat."

"Younger have served in matters less dire, your majesty."

The King fixed him with a distrustful stare and continued on down the list grumbling his sentiments occasionally. "This man Paul, he could be the reason for conflict in and of himself."

"He may be an international thief, but it is such skill that will serve us best when turned to our cause."

"And it is such questionability of character that I so fervently disagree with," the King pointed out, "can you imagine what our own people would think to find out that the most sensitive matters in their country are being handled by a burglar? Not to mention what the other kingdoms would do were they to find out?"

"To be quite frank, your majesty, I do not believe the other kingdoms to be aware enough of what goes on outside their borders as it is, it is because we bear such loose ties that we need this measure in the first place," Imross would probably regret that one later but it somewhat needed to be said, "beside the point is that he already has been in and out of nearly every place we would be sending him. For all they know, he is still on personal exploits; so long as he carries no incriminating evidence linking him to the crown."

Apparently, this was answer enough for the King, who moved on to another subject, "You have twelve names listed, hardly enough for even a small vanguard. The White Knights had an order nearly three times this amount on its wane. Do you truly believe them to be enough?"

"Your majesty, I have noted each of these names due to large amounts of talent. Not only will they be avoiding direct conflicts with enemy armies by the very nature of their work, but I estimate each one will be able to dispatch six to eight fiends in a pack with proper training. I simply require your blessing to carry out this plan and protect our kingdom."

The King chuckled dryly, though perhaps it was more to cover his weariness,"you are already working in the dark, Sir Conlat, why should my blessing make any difference?"

"Because you are the authority I have chosen to answer to, your majesty. The authority of the Wild Rose," Imross answered without hesitance. In his view, this is what set him apart; while others went to any length to protect what they held dear, Imross saw that there could be a price for going too far. If one overstepped their own authority they had not only broken down important mental barriers but also had created a greater burden for those responsible. He did not want anyone to have to clean up after his mistakes, that was why he played within the ruleset; but exploiting the loopholes was not beyond his grasp. To protect the Wild Rose, the banner of Fynn, he would go to great pains, but never insubordination and treason.

"Well said, Sir Conlat," the King replied, once again locking his stare on Imross' eyes,"I see your concerns clearly, roses often do require thorns to protect them. But we still must not agitate the situation unnecessarily. I shall require weekly examinations to ensure the purity of this project. If I feel things are getting out of hand, you must stop immediately. These are dangerous lines you play along."

Imross gave a grim smile, he had succeeded, "Not as dangerous as a future without them, sire. I shall not disappoint you."

"I dare hope you shan't, Sir Conlat. Dismissed."

Imross bowed and turned to leave the chamber, his eyes set on the door emblazoned with a rose. A rose soon to gain thorns...

The symbol of Fynn broke in two as the doors parted to permit entrance to Mindu, white mage of the King's court. Imross had little enough love for mystic beliefs and the fact that the King relied upon Mindu's predictions so heavily irritated him to no end. Were it up to him, Mysidian belief would be banned from the kingdom on charges of misleading the people and perpetrating the arcane arts that were best left out of the hands of man. No one seemed to recall the tales of Duemion and Phrykos any more.

"Good day, Sir Conlat," Mindu addressed him cooly as he passed by. Always polite, yet ever disapproving; Mindu held little regard of Imross' policies, particularly on foreign matters.

"Good day, Mindu," Imross said briskly, moving out of the room at an increased pace. He had work to do and not even the infuriating mannerisms of the Mysidian mage were going to get to him now. Finally a means not only to protect Fynn, but to break the silence from the Palamecian border.

Imross was aware that he was getting ahead of himself, but the potential he had seen in the prospective recruits would have no trouble catching up. Closing the door to the throne room behind him, he proceeded down the castle towards the royal stables. Roth Senfire, his first lieutenant, was waiting in the saddle, flanked by two other knights.

"So you got approved now, did you?" Roth grinned, good natured as ever.

"Yes," Imross confirmed, a faint smile of his own forming on the word he had fought so hard to be able to utter, "we have permission to recruit and train. You already have the letters of notification?"

Roth nodded, patting his satchel, "As do my men."

"Then ride out. Be ready to buy extra chocobos for the recruits, and be back within a fortnight. We've no time to waste, and neither does the rest of the world."

* * *

><p>Firion of Fynn was a boy born to poor parents in the winter months in the town of Salamand. Early in his life, they had moved to Fynn and set up shop as hunters and lived well for a time. They acted together, giving the boy an appreciation for teamwork. But then the reports came in, reports of monsters no man of their generation had fought before: fiends of the Jade Passage. Firion's parents had been commissioned then to scout the coming storm, thus they left Firion in the hands of some family friends and set out on their most dire mission. The only thing seen of them ever again was their twin blades, sunk into the carcass of a large beast near Mysidia.<p>

From that day forth, Firion had practiced tirelessly with weapons; finding the strengths and advantages to each in hopes that someday he would avenge the deaths of his parents and destroy the monsters of the Jade Passage that haunted the land.

The family that raised him had two children that acted as his companions and kept his heart from growing cold to the world. Both were intrigued by his family trade, though the elder child, Leon, was innately more adept as a sparring partner.

Leon was a specialist from the start. He did not do an extensive number of tasks, but what he did he did well. While Firion experimented and fine-tuned the workings of every weapon type, Leon grew ever more proficient with the long reach of a spear and the versatility of a sword. "You've only got two hands with which to wield," he had told Firion once, trying to make a point of practicality.

Maria, Leon's younger sister, was best described as well rooted. She preferred things that did not escape her understanding or control and tended toward the use of a bow due to the distance that it provided, and thus time to think.

When Firion was nine, another boy came into the household. While hunting for food in the forest outside Fynn, Firion and Leon had discovered an odd and silent child about their age all alone in the woods. Leon's parents took the boy in and named him Guy, mostly in that it was simple to pronounce. Apparently, he was also orphaned and had survived being raised by beasts. Although Firion doubted this story, he was still quick friends with Guy, whose muscular physique allowed him much superiority with either his bare hands or an axe, which relied on brute force rather than expertise of movement. Together, they formed a friendship based on mutual trust and respect rather than words.

Thus, for the past eight and a half years had Firion grown and trained in the company of his friends. Gradually, his desire to slay the beast out of vengeance faded into a desire to protect others and cultivate a future in which his trade was unnecessary. He yearned for a true peace. That was why he still fought. And it was due to this nature, in part, that he was able to take on the task given to him now.

"I've been summoned." He repeated again to his adoptive father, showing him the letter, "Leon and Guy too. They say that we are to replace the order of the White Knights and protect Fynn."

"Do you really want this, Firion? Are you really ready to do whatever they ask you to?" his adoptive father would not give up suspicions about the true intent of the order. Firion could somewhat understand the man's reluctance but over all it seemed only logical to answer the call. If danger was out there, he wanted to take it down; just as his true parents had...

"It is my duty to the crown and to the people," Firion said. Although his adoptive parents had always been avid supporters of independent thought and action, he hoped that this social appeal would hit home somewhere. If he told them he was just out to have a chance testing his combat skill they would never allow it. "If danger is to threaten our borders, I want to be able to protect what is important to me." That part was entirely true, and hopefully would not dissuade their support.

"I'm with Firion on that note," Leon said, entering the room with a pack on his back, "anything worse than the local trolls makes me think professional backing may not be such a bad idea."

"But have you considered that this isn't going to be just some romp through the back woods funded by the crown?" their father was quite exasperated at this point, Firion feared they may have pushed too far, "you don't know if you'll be ordered to kill, steal, or completely annihilate an entire country all because the crown deems it to be correct!"

"I'll make you a promise then," Leon said calmly, "the moment I find one thing wrong with this, I will take Firion and Guy and desert the whole business."

"By then you'll be too far in. There'll be no going back."

"What if another Kingdom attacks, or the fiends return?" Firion sighed, tiring of the argument as well, "we won't be able to undo the past then either. At least this way we will be equipped with the skills necessary to stop the advance of evil whether it is abroad or within our own borders."

"Well go then," his adoptive father said, though his tone sounded more begrudging than anything else, "go and follow the legacy left by your true parents. But pray do not meet the same fate as they did."

"Are Guy and I allowed to join as well then?" Leon pressed further. Although Firion did not like the more aggressive approach of his adoptive brother, he had come to expect it; Leon sought his goals with single-minded determination.

"Are you willing to risk everything for this venture?"

Leon smirked, "someone's got to look after Firion, and I'll wager it'll take the both of us to get him out of whatever trouble he sticks his nose into."

* * *

><p>"Do you really think that was wise?" Firion asked swinging his pack over his shoulder as they left the Fynn sundries shop. It was a light load as the castle was only a short trip from the town.<p>

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Leon said, his tone fairly neutral as he stuffed a spare tent into the back of his knapsack.

Guy grunted as he followed his brothers out onto the empty streets. He was content to let them lead most of the time but this matter was a little confusing. It was not that he had not dealt with them quarreling before, it was more that he had not dealt with any tension between them and the rest of the family. Guy wasn't sure if leaving now meant they were leaving forever or if the bonds would heal. He could only be certain that their adoptive father was not happy with their decision. If only he knew what the decision was in its entirety...

Guy could not read, so the presentation of the letter from the knight had little impact on him. Firion and Leon had been quick to convey the contents, however, but only to the extent that they were wanted at the castle. It had only been downhill from there.

"Why father angry?" Guy asked, his speech somewhat limited despite his years in human society. He only spoke around his family most of the time, not ever in the mood to be ridiculed for his perceived lack of intelligence.

"We'll tell you later," Leon assured him, taking the lead and setting a pace that would soon leave the town behind. "He won't be that way forever. He's just, well..."

"He doesn't like things that are difficult to discern, he feels that we aren't being told the whole story," Firion attempted to explain.

"Guy sympathize." It was difficult not to put it pointedly...

"... I see."

Hopefully Firion had not taken that too hard. He was a sincere person and tended to take a lot of things to heart. To a degree that was perfect for Guy, who needed to be able to communicate at the base level most of the time, not adept enough in conversation to successfully hint and veil as most did.

"Hello my dear fellows! Off to the castle are you?" a sandy haired man with a blue cape interrupted Guy's musings as he caught Firion and Guy by the shoulders, assuming their pace, "I've a bit of business there myself, mind if we travel together?"

"And who might you be?" Leon asked, not breaking stride. Perhaps he would tell the man they were not interested. Guy somewhat hoped so, though he had a terrible feeling that regardless they would end up spending much time with this stranger.

"Me? Why I'm Paul! The world's greatest thief! They've not invented a safe or vault yet that I can't crack into!"

A thief? Firion and Guy exchanged a look. Guy cocked his head to the side, a gesture which had long meant "shall we take it together?" Firion replied with a meaningful nod and shrugged off Paul's grip before spinning around and grabbing the thief's right forearm and shoulder. Guy mirrored the movement before pushing the unlucky burglar off his feet and onto the ground, pinning him down.

"Hey now! What's all this about?" Paul wheezed, trying to get air back into his lungs as he feebly struggled in their grip.

"We don't have dealings with thieves," Firion informed him. Guy nodded grimly, fixing Paul with his squint, "such would not be proper conduct for those about to enter the service of his majesty."

Paul suppressed a chuckle, Guy helped that along with a little pressure to his forearm. "Is that so, huh? Agents under the command of his majesty? You look a little young for the army."

Guy followed Firions shifting gaze back to Leon, wondering if they should reveal their whole mission. Leon smiled and turned to face the man, "We aren't going for the army, we're going for another order being formed to protect Fynn from all forms of malice. We're going to become the thorns that protect the Wild Rose."

"Ah! The Thorn's Edge?" Paul exclaimed, regaining a smile, "well then, if you'd kindly let me up I'll see you when you get there. After all, that is my reason for paying a visit to the castle as well!"

Firion must have lost his grip because Paul then utilized the mobility of his right side to fling himself against Guy, giving him a split second's worth of relief that allowed him to wriggle free and tackle Leon. However, Firion was back on his feet by then and got a hold of the thief by his cape. Subsequently, Paul abandoned his cape and the three were left glaring at his tracks.

"You think that's what father didn't like about this whole thing?" Firion asked Leon, picking up his fallen pack.

Leon sighed, "well, we can't exactly take him at his word. Maybe he really isn't a part of all of this."

True... his occupation alone did not speak of honesty. Guy silently hoped that either Leon was right, or that he would get to impose some sense upon him when it turned out otherwise. Sadly, he acknowledged that there was small chance of either scenario.

"We might as well keep moving," Leon stated, "let's find out what this whole business is about."

Reluctantly, Guy and Firion followed.


	2. To Train the Body

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

**Chapter 2: To Train the Body...**

"So I guess we'll be working together after all, eh?" Paul smiled widely across the table at Firion, Guy, and Leon. "Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot earlier–"

"Perhaps we'll get lucky and you'll be in another squad," Leon interrupted coolly, "I hear that they're splitting us up into groups of three to four."

"I've heard the same," Alexander, a boy from Gatrea said, sliding in on Paul's side of the table, "seems a logical decision. After all, you can only get so much done at once when you move in one clump. There are also fewer liabilities that way."

Firion grimaced, "correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't less people make it _more_ difficult to prevent liabilities?"

"Only up to a point. Eventually, the group has too many people in too little space, especially with the tasks we'll likely be assigned. Seems the crown has taken to thinking on a small scale, just the way I like it."

And just what were these tasks that they would be assigned? Firion was already having doubts with the enlistment of Paul. What else did the crown have in mind for their "noble" efforts?

"Small groups, large impact," a man wearing a captain's uniform entered the room, bringing with him a brisk aura. "But that impact will require much skill and dedication. I am Sir Conlat, a knight in his majesty's service; I will be your commanding officer and temporary tutor for the next few years. I thank you all for your sacrifice in answering our call to arms.

"Even while half of our numbers have yet to arrive, you will begin training immediately," Sir Conlat continued, standing with his hands held behind his back "When you were selected, we noted that each of you had some form of familiarity with combat. We hope to mold you into specialists for your weapon of choice, allowing you and your squad to be ready should you be attacked in extreme circumstances. As each form of weapon has its own strengths and weaknesses, we may eventually require specialization for each area."

Firion nodded in acknowledgment. This was what he came for, a chance to become a true weapons master of unmatched versatility. It would be difficult, but he had a rudimentary understanding of how each functioned. Too bad for Leon though; Firion did not dare break his gaze from Sir Conlat for fear of being disrespectful, but he would bet a large sum that the last requirement had made his adoptive brother furrow his prominent eyebrows.

"The first area we will begin training in is that of philosophy and strategy. As field operatives who may not be able to regularly contact your commanding officer it is best that you each be able to assess a situation for yourselves as well as possible outcomes due to actions taken in the field. If you decide to kill a human being for example, you jeopardize the lax state of security in an area when such is discovered. If you fail to properly cover your tracks, you could incite political turmoil and all out war on all fronts. Thus we shall teach you how to avoid such conditions and still accomplish your goal." Well put, Firion had minimal experience in stealth operations, this would be good for him. Although he was somewhat put out that they were not jumping straight into weapons training, he would still enjoy a chance to better himself.

He could also tell that he already liked Sir Conlat's approach to a situation. He was brief, fairly thorough, but also left things sufficiently vague for changing conditions; and yet he still sounded rather genuine in his speech. Such were good qualities to have, one must not waste time, give too little information, or tie down a situation to a strict set of actions. A man who understood these things would at least do a good job of informing his troops how to act. Though the "how" and "what" were still to be explained, Firion felt a little more at ease with the situation as a whole.

"Head to the war room and prepare for instruction," Sir Conlat concluded, "I'll meet you there shortly. Dismissed."

Firion and the others at the table watched silently as the knight left the room before turning back to each other. "And where exactly is the war room?" Paul inquired, looking hopefully to his temporary team mates.

"It's the first challenge in and of itself," Firion sighed, making an inference from the topic of today's instruction. He was still getting over not being able to show off his forte, but high performance in all areas would do more for him than sulking. "We've got to use our combined knowledge of the castle layout as well as a team oriented mentality as we will likely be penalized for arriving without each other, does anyone have any ideas?"

Alexander leaned forward, "Well if I were the architect, I would make the war room deep inside the structure in case of a siege. It wouldn't do any good to have your defensive plans caved in on. Also, I would place it as near the stables as possible for easy access to incoming and outgoing message relays. But then, I don't know where the stable is..."

"It's a start at least," Leon commented tracing the wood grain of the table with his finger, "What about you, Paul, have you got experience in the layout of a castle?"

"'Course I do!" Paul assured him, "it's quite vital to my profession not to stumble into the wrong room when visiting a well guarded installation. The problem is, the war room is usually in the quarter of the castle that I would steer clear of under ordinary circumstances."

"Then we can hypothesize where it isn't," Alexander suggested, "and that would isolate the possibilities to–"

Ordinary circumstances... Firion frowned, "Hang on a minute. Paul, under _ordinary _circumstances you're usually trying to escape a castle with all possible haste. Have you ever had to make use of a castle's stable for a quick getaway?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because according to Alexander's earlier statement that would at least get us near the right area."

Leon chuckled, "Conlat does seem the sort who doesn't like to waste time. Stables near the war room sounds good enough for me."

"Alright then, let's go," Firion declared, getting up from the table, "Paul, if you'd be so kind?"

Paul gave him an odd grin, "It would be my pleasure."

They set off down the hallway, Paul taking the lead and occasionally stopping to sniff the air, scratch his head, and reluctantly choose a direction. "What are you doing?" Alexander asked after the third turn or so, "we don't seem to be going very quickly."

"Well usually a Chocobo stable has a very distinct and thick scent," Paul explained, now quite apparently trying to catch a whiff of something that was not there, "but no matter how far we go, I'm not smelling it."

"That's because a Chocobo fed on a diet of Gyshal greens has no odor," a man in a green cloak and light armor spoke up, joining in with their ranks. "I'd reckon that Sir Conlat has made such supply adjustments to accommodate his future stealth endeavors."

"Is that you Rochenst?" Alexander asked, turning around to fully face the new-comer. "Have they got you too?"

So Alexander knew this man already, Firion took note that they were likely from the same area and might share cultural quirks. Alexander did seem awfully talkative after all...

The man smiled, his rough features accentuating that it was a common expression, "Yes, but if you'll excuse me I'm off to the war room. I mustn't be delayed on my first day of 'training'."

"Yeah, there's probably not much they can teach you," Alexander chuckled, "so where do you suppose the war room is?"

"Just down this hallway," Rochenst informed them, "or that's what they said at any rate. Care to come and see if it's true?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Firion saw Leon's expression darken a little. He was either suspicious or upset about something in that last comment. Falling to the back of the crowd as they began moving again, he came side by side with Leon while Guy took up the rear, probably also aware of Leon's change in mood. It was not uncommon for Leon to become serious about trivial matters, but that did not stop Firion from seeking a resolution to whatever the matter was.

"He's fully informed," Leon muttered under his breath as his brothers came closer, "if this is truly a test, don't you think it probable that he's misleading us?"

"It could also be a chance to test our intelligence gathering abilities, discerning the correct sources to draw from."

"I don't think that's how Conlat operates," Leon's whisper was edging on a hiss, "why would he encourage a self-sufficient unit to rely on–"

"Here we are!" Alexander announced from the head of the column as he opened the doors to what looked very much like a war room should. The room sunk into the ground a little, enough to make stairs leading up to the doors a practical addition. A central table covered by a map took up the majority of the room, the walls were occupied by similar strategic documents and a banner of Fynn. As well as six torches: two by the door they had entered, two by a door on the far side, and one on either wall flanking the table.

Rochenst moved to the walls to examine the various maps and their notations as they entered the room, gesturing Alexander over to join him. Firion was getting the distinct idea that these two shared more than a village in common. The most likely circumstances were either that Alexander had been formerly apprenticed to the man or they were of blood relation.

"I see you understood 'shortly' well enough," Conlat came up from behind, ushering them into the room and closing the doors. "We have much to discuss. Please, take a seat."

"How did we do?" Paul asked, pulling out his chair at the near end of the table. The others began to follow suite. Leon, probably wanting to keep his distance from Paul, sat down one seat from the opposite end, Firion and Guy flanked him.

Conlat gave Paul a stern look, "we have barely begun, soldier. I will alert you of your standing when I deem it necessary or profitable. Now then, down to business." He paused as he came to the seat at the head of the table and found Guy at his right hand.

"Are you volunteering for a leadership position, soldier?"

Firion saw confusion form on his brother's face. Obviously, in their move to stay away from Paul they had strayed into the area usually reserved for elites. Firion held back a grunt of frustration and stood up, "we apologize sir, my brother is simply not used to the etiquette of the situation. Please allow us to make amends for our mistake."

"Hold on," Conlat stopped Firion in mid shuffle as he tried to move one seat down, "if your brother wishes to have leadership and is capable of it, he is welcome to the position. I know you all are mostly of common descent and do not expect you to know the perfect navigation of an upper class situation. If I wanted you in an assigned seats I would say so. I assume that you moved to your location out of a sense of individual and exclusive identification, you do not yet wish to be integrated with the rest of the group. This is understandable but also something I hope to see you overcome in the coming weeks. From now on, your brothers are the members of the Thorn's Edge, where many thorns are gathered the plucking of one is impossible without being pricked by another."

"With all due respect, sir, I do not think it is wise to entrust ourselves so easily to men who have not proven to be faithful in character."

"I take it you are referring to the previous occupation of Sir Paul," Conlat sighed, giving a calculating look in the thief's direction. "We understand your hesitance on the matter and shall let his actions speak for themselves. Are you satisfied then, Firion?"

"... Yes." Firion was a bit taken back by being addressed by name as opposed to "soldier". Perhaps Sir Conlat was seeking to sound more familiar and trustworthy. It did not quite suite the man but it did reinforce his words about standing together as brothers.

"Good, now with that taken care of let us move on to a few basic mental principles about how you will face battle. For starters, your enemy will almost invariably go for the kill, there will be many situations in which you must do the same when engaged in combat. We discourage you from seeking out such opportunity but when the time demands it you will be ready. Do everything in your power to avoid the death of a human opponent though, our purpose is to bring peace, not slaughter. _Should_ my suspicions prove true, there is one target and one target only that absolutely _must_ die: Emperor Mateus of Palamecia. Even this may be circumventable given that our estimates of our position are grossly exaggerated."

"What are your estimates of the current position?" Alexander interrupted. Firion was beginning to presume that the lad lacked a sense of tact, though he was effective in getting his immediate concerns across.

Conlat sighed, "another tenant we hope to instill you with is to learn the full value of listening. You may have to carry a conversation for intelligence gathering purposes at times but the ability to hold one's tongue can prove vital. With that said, we are under the suspicion that Emperor Mateus IV is raising an army. His strict and hostile enforcement of the Palamecian borders is a curious move in a time of peace and one does not build thick walls for sport in most instances. We have assumed that he is trying to keep casual eyes out of his schemes, as this is in direct violation of the peace treaty signed thirty years ago by his father. Although getting inside the border will not be an immediate assignment, you will someday be asked to investigate the matter if it does not resolve. But enough of this, you will be ready for this information in time. For now, please focus on the lesson."

* * *

><p>Guy attempted to give the lecture his full attention but for the remaining three hours he could do little more than take his cue from Firion and try to nod at the appropriate spots. Leon was of no such assistance, he sat stoically with his right cheek resting on his fist, his only life signs being an occasional blink.<p>

"And now some hands-on training," Sir Conlat said, his words piercing through Guy's consciousness. Real world application was just what he could use about now, Guy thrived on example; thoughts were made readily understandable when translated into action. "You will be split up into three teams of two, these teams will consist of a strategist and an agent. Strategists must give three specific actions to their agents, these will be verified with me. It is then up to the agent to carry out these actions and defeat their opponents. The point of the exercise is not only clear and concise communication in chain of command but also to learn to read your opponents and play up on the strengths of your allies. Now, if I may have you blindfolded I shall pick the teams."

Two knights entered the room, each carrying a hand-full of cloths. One by one, those seated at the table gave their consent and were blindfolded, some more readily than others. Reluctantly, Guy followed suite. Although he had developed his senses of hearing, smell, and touch acutely early in life he was loathe to give up any section of his arsenal.

After being blindfolded he was led away down a corridor. One set of footsteps in front from the leading person, many diverging away, and one beside him. The last pair did not belong to Firion or Leon, although they sounded similar to the former. It was a lighter tread, the sort used by one who favors agility and stealth over a solid stance. Guy fought the sinking feeling that he had just been paired up with Paul.

They halted just as the sounds of the outdoors and the smells of late autumn were becoming stronger. The leader undid their blindfolds and stepped back, giving Guy his first good look at his surroundings; as he had deduced, they were in a small alley, still within castle walls but open air and carpeted with grass rather than stone. It apparently continued on around the corner, probably leading to a more open area. A stairway to the right led up to a raised area about one story higher than their current elevation.

Taking all this in, Guy turned his attention to their escort. He was one of the knights from earlier, a man of medium height, shorter than Guy, with a bushy beard and mustache and short, light brown hair that curled at the ends. "Familiarize yourself with your partner," he instructed them.

Guy turned to find his partner was not Paul, but the man Rochenst. He was tall, almost Guy's height, but of a lighter build. Wrinkle lines were evident upon his face, though not very deep yet, indicating either excessive expression or middling age. If the latter proved true, he would likely have considerable knowledge of some sort, particularly to be selected for the Thorn's Edge.

"Now then, Guy, you will take the strategist role for the exercise," the knight told them, apparently having deemed their silent analysis adequate, "Rochenst will act as the agent. Your goal is to equip Rochenst with the proper parameters to defend himself against the perceived threat. Understood?"

Guy assumed their opponents would be either captured fiends or their comrades in arms. Asking for clarification would probably be pointless since Conlat and his staff enjoyed ambiguity. "Guy Understand," he said to the knight, _or as far as I am going to understand given the circumstances... _"Rochenst, what weapons you use?"

Rochenst let his gaze drift towards the sky as he thought about his answer, "I am proficient in the use of daggers and bows, as well as some hand-to-hand technique. Also, I may wield a sword with some level of competency should the situation demand it."

Hand-to-hand, now there was something Guy could relate to, "how good your reflexes?"

"Adequate, perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"First command: use catch-counter," an excellent use of the barehanded style, catching an opponent's weapon and countering while they are in your range. Of course, it required perfect reflexes and strength superior to the opponent's; but from Guy's evaluation, Rochenst would only be in danger of being matched in the latter category if he were to face Leon. Even so, Leon was often too focused on planning out a series of attacks to react to a breach in his plans. Firion would be another story...

"And that would be...?" Rochenst queried, raising one of his thick maple eyebrows to augment his meaning.

It then occurred to Guy that Rochenst probably did not use the same terminology as himself and his brothers, "When opponent attack, grab weapon and counter." It really did seem quite self explanatory...

"With my fist or the weapon?"

"Fist," non-fatal attacks were easier to ensure that way. Guy was fairly certain whatever they were up against, it would be in their best interest to keep it alive.

"Any other commands?"

Guy thought a moment, counter attacks were an excellent tactic given one had quick reflexes _and_ an aggressive opponent. Rochenst would require an initiative move of his own, otherwise he would be subject to the willingness of his enemy to strike first. He seemed a little impatient at the moment, and waiting for a hit would not suit him well. "When not counter, feint to head and go for legs."

To complete the set, it would be wise to give him a final offensive move to keep the enemy off guard but still give him room to counter. Something compact in movement and meant to occupy time and energy rather than actually attack. "Guard-gut-jab," Guy stated, "that final move. Keep one hand in chamber, jab at gut with other." It would keep one hand ready to counter and aim for an area the enemy could not afford to leave unguarded. Of course... that was assuming their enemy was human.

"Is that it then?" the knight asked, almost turning to go. Guy concluded the man must be anxious to keep moving.

He wanted to pause and think it over but doing so would not be taken kindly in all probability. Everyone wanted to move forward with whatever it was, Guy just wanted to do it right. However, there was only so much he could hypothesize about his enemies. "Go," he nodded his permission to the knight. Hesitance would gain him nothing in this situation, through experience he would learn whether or not it was the right decision.

"Good," the knight almost smiled as he started off around the corner with Rochenst in toe, "Go up the stairs and meet with Sir Conlat, he'll elaborate on the subject for you."

Guy watched them go before moving up the stairs to what he could only describe as ramparts looking inside rather than out surrounding a good sized, moss laden arena. The upper level was symmetrical, forming a C around the arena with the back attaching to the castle. There waited Conlat and Alexander, Guy could also see Firion and one of the knights coming up on the other side. It would seem a safe assumption that the agents would be facing each other then... Paul, Leon, and Rochenst.

After everyone was in place, both knights reported to Rochenst discreetly, probably giving the move set that had been selected. Ensuring secrecy was somehow vital to this exchange, but Guy could not seem to fathom why. _There's much subtlety to be had in conversation, _Maria had once told him, _sometimes people leave things out so you can figure it out yourself._ He agreed with her statement but did not like it anymore now than then; though it did open a new possibility: rather than simply using secrecy to blind them, Conlat could be attempting to give them opportunities to try to see through it. If the moves chosen were carefully not stated out loud it meant that only through direct combat would the fighters get a handle on what the others could do. If the agents were skilled enough, they would pick up on little cues of what would be used.

Guy mentally slapped himself for choosing such easily recognizable moves. Unless Rochenst somehow found a way to be innovative with those moves, Leon would likely find a way to exploit his opponent's limitations as he had when Guy had first started training with him. Despite being a specialist, Leon rained punishment upon those who were stagnant in their attack patterns.

And yet, with everything in place now, Guy could only watch the events unfold and wait with bated breath. He highly doubted Conlat would review him favorably for this...

* * *

><p>Rochenst rested against the wall where the knight had left him, looking across the way to what he assumed to be one of his opponents: the man named Paul. If everyone else was correct in their projected evaluation, the man would use an unorthodox and trickery based fighting style. Of course, that was assuming he was left to his own choice. Rochenst did not know who had given Paul orders but if it resembled his experience at all the given commands could conflict with the basic nature of the inherent fighting style; therein would lie his advantage, for he could adapt.<p>

As a hunter, Rochenst had often faced the necessity of adaptation; when one is far from home and the normal means have run dry, bending to a new way gains a whole lot more prominence as a possibility. It was in being able to learn how to deliver full impact despite barriers that one could truly call themself skilled.

However, something else was also bidding for his attention within his mind: Conlat's lecture. One of the points he had brought up was discipline and discernment. _Not only must a commander evaluate his forces but a soldier must also evaluate his commander and decide whether or not his decisions are valid given the situation. Only given very special circumstances is one to dissobey orders but at the same time, it should not be counted out of the possibilities entirely; for even those in control are human. _Rochenst was not entirely sure how he was supposed to take this but someone like Paul could definitely equate it to free liscence. So long as Rochenst followed the spirit of the attacks he had been given he wouldn't be violating the original intent of the orders. In any case, he had always felt the spirit of the law preceded the letter of it.

"Agents, enter the ring." Conlat's voice came from around the right turn that led deeper into what would serve as their arena. "Prepare to fight on my mark. Agents are to sustain five body hits before being counted as defeated."

So they were to fight eachother... all the better. Humans had a tendency to act more rationally, and therefore more predictably, than beasts. Rochenst obeyed the orders to move before looking up to Conlat's position, a balcony lining the area. The captain held his open hand high while he surveyed those who were about to enter combat. Taking the moment to note his third opponent, the man who had sat by Firion who was now armed with a wooden pole, Rochenst put the last pieces together.

Conlat seemed like a fair man, by purposefully choosing Guy to order Rochenst he had put together two unfamiliar elements; Rochenst suspected the others had also been given strategists equally unacquainted. Since Firion knew the third agent and was not in the ring, Rochenst surmised that Alexander, who preferred to fight on the defensive from a distance, had been given to the task of directing the man. Thus, he could expect guarded attacks from as far away as possible. It also probably meant that the man had been ordered to observe his move set before attacking. If such was the case, Rochenst could effectively keep the man away by not revealing his move set and thus evade the conditions for attack.

With Firion left as the final strategist, Rochenst could only form a vague hypothesis on what Paul might do. Firion seemed to be a forthright man and not at all compatible with Paul's general demeanor. The fact of the matter was that the most unexpected thing Paul could do now was actually follow orders.

Lastly, with the stipulation of five hits it would be the fast fighter who held the advantage. He would have to either abuse the worth out of his feint or modify the "guard-gut-jab" and jab at multiple areas. Of course, he was still uncertain of how specificly Conlat would hold them to the commands given but this was a risk he felt worth taking.

His evaluations completed, Rochenst shifted his gaze up to Conlat just in time to see him close his hand in a fist, supposedly the starting mark. Moving in towards Paul, Rochenst took the initiative and threw a feint to his face before switching to a sweep kick to knock him off his feet.

Paul jumped a little too late and was clipped by the motion, causing him to fall towards Rochenst. Taking hold of the situation, Rochenst grabbed Paul by the shoulder and pulled him in towards a ready fist aimed for his gut. Rochenst was fully aware that grabs were not part of the prescribed move set but his innate combat sense was a bit overpowering at the moment. He would have to be more careful next time...

Releasing Paul to stagger backwards, Rochenst performed another blow to his opponents mid-section. The punch was near flawless in its execution but pulling his hand back into chamber was hampered by the newfound attachment of Paul's grip. Rochenst was tempted to perform a grab break but his determination to stick to the parameters barred the motion. Instead, he feinted a hit to Paul's face. Paul didn't flinch to the blow but jumped, anticipating the follow up attack to his ankles. Rochenst had other plans though.

With his feet off the ground, Paul no longer had an anchoring point to keep Rochenst in check. Using the man's stalwart grip against him, Rochenst pulled Paul in before delivering a blow to the back to drive him down towards the ground. This move roughly followed the bounds of a catch counter so Rochenst felt fully justified in its use.

In one motion, Paul rolled to his feet and threw a clod of dirt towards Rochenst's face. Rochenst was only fast enough to block the majority of the projectile, the rest of it splattered across his face. Fighting the urge to blink and splutter, he used his left hand to wipe away what he could and refocus. Apparently, he was one step behind. A sharp blow to his abdomen forced him back a few steps, a blow of wood rather than flesh. So the third party had entered...

Backstepping to give his vision time to clear, Rochenst brought his guard up. The intervention of Alexander's partner meant that either he had become impatient or that he truly believed he had observed all there was to observe. A brash opponent was dangerous because of his unpredictibility, but easy to defeat if caught off balance. Rochenst had to force the point if he hoped to win.

The sound of three successive blows from the wooden weapon would indicate that Paul had been taken out of the fight, assuming all had landed on target. Rochenst had no distractions to rely on now, only his skill and the yet unproven weakness of his adversary. His eyes refocused on the boy as the pole rushed towards his right shoulder. Using his left hand, he grabbed the weapon, spun to pull it and his opponent closer, and delivered a kick into what should have been ribs but ended up as an arm brought up to absorb the impact. The young man then backhanded Rochenst's leg to throw him offbalance as he pulled it back and yanked the weapon from Rochenst's grip.

Rochenst rolled back and dodged as a number of thrusts pushed him towards the wall. So long as the boy held his weapon he controlled the duel by forcing Rochenst to overcome two barriers: the pole and the boy's own defensive capabilities with his hands. The back hand that had been used to put Rochenst on the defensive was sloppy though, it was doubtful that the boy was fully proficient in hand-to-hand. Therefore, getting the weapon out of the picture would be Rochenst's immediate goal and key to victory. And he was getting just the idea of how to do it: the spirit of Guy's instructions had essentially been to play upon the basic attack patterns most often used by opponents; if an incoming blow would make them block, then getting them to block in the wrong area with a feint was the preferred method of assault. This approach relied mostly on predicting an opponent's reaction due to repetitive movements. Perhaps this was constructed in counter to a frequent sparring partner...

As his opponent continued the push towards the wall, Rochenst watched the pattern of attack, observing the cycle the pole underwent as it wove around him, driving him in a desired direction. Once he was cornered the boy would likely go for a central thrust. This would allow him to put more direct energy into the attack but would also have a slower recovery time than his alternative assault. It would have to be enough...

Just as Rochenst had predicted, the boy shifted into a central thrust the moment his back bumped against the wall. Moving as far to the side as possible, Rochenst felt the blow glance off his side and into the wall. Seizing the pole as well as the moment, he pushed the weapon back into its user. The boy let out a gasp and staggered backwards, clutching his stomach.

Spinning around and smashing the pole in half against the wall, Rochenst turned to face his opponent once more. The boy glared but that would do little to help him now, they both knew it was as good as over.

* * *

><p>AN: It has come to my attention that perhaps my writing is a bit cryptic at times. If such is the general consensus then I shall be happy to oblige to the challenge of improving but I first must settle the matter in earnest. Please leave your opinion! Also: I appreciate that you have taken the time to read this story. I know that FF II the original does not have an extremely large fanbase like some of its successors in the series but I feel it shows some promise. Thank you for choosing something off the beaten path!


	3. Diplomacy's Burden

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

**Chapter 3: Diplomacy's Burden**

Leon dug into his bread rations with the increased energy of frustration. The first week had come and gone and they were over halfway through the second. The rest of the Thorn's Edge had arrived at various points and from various corners of the world. Men from as far away as Salamand and Mysidia had answered the summons but their ranks were still limited. Although Leon did not mind the small group setting he was very much annoyed with the apparent lack of direction Conlat had in his training techniques. They had been lectured everyday of last week before going off to some exercise as equally confusing and pointless as the last. This week the fresh troops were getting the lectures they had missed while those who had arrived earlier "trained" under Conlat's second in command, a man by the name of Roth Senfire. Unfortunately, Roth was even more inclined towards mind games than his superior. At this point, if Leon heard so much as a riddle he was going to snap.

"Still haven't swallowed your pride over being beaten?" Firion sat down next to Leon with his own breakfast. Guy, as usual, took the other flank.

"It wasn't a fair match anyway," now that Firion brought it up though, he did recognize he did not feel kindly towards either Rochenst _or _Conlat's methods. Perhaps that was at its root...

"Because it wasn't a match to see who was strongest," right on cue, Rochenst sat down across from Leon in preparation for his daily appeal for absolution, "It was a chance for us to observe each other and for Sir Conlat to see how we react to orders. If you had followed a more cautious strategy as Alexander had commanded then you might have won."

Leon looked incredulously at Rochenst, "I'm not certain of what 'commands' you were given, but I was ordered to 'hit and run' once I had 'observed the basic tactics of the opponent'. Lastly, I was not to 'engage in any direct or prolonged assaults unless absolutely necessary'. How was I supposed to work with that?"

"By adopting a different mindset and understanding why you would be asked to do such things. As it stands though, Sir Conlat simply evaluated that you and Alexander are not a compatible team as of yet."

Leon grunted, "Finally, some good news."

"Might I add some to the trend?" Benjamin, a fiery haired young man from the port town of Poft and one of the later arrivals, sat down on Rochenst's side of the table, "They say today will be solely an exercise of our skills without any lecture."

"Sounds like what the rest of us are doing everyday," Leon muttered, crumbling his chunk of bread in a subconscious expression of his irritation. He did not have any particular reason to be angry with newcomers like Benjamin but the fact that they were looking forward to training. Leon was looking forward to training being over and the real action beginning so he could get out there and prove himself as he knew he could. Conlat just was not offering him the right arena.

"He doesn't mean to offend, he's just had a hard week," good old Firion intervened; always trying to cover up the blatant expressions of hostility that Leon put off...

But then, Firion was right. If Leon was not so caught up in his defeat at the hands of Rochenst he might not be so belligerent about Conlat's methods and might actually be enjoying himself. As it stood, he felt he had been forced into the situation and could have done little differently, much less better. The fault lay with Conlat, not with him.

_That's your pride talking_, Maria would scold him for sure if she knew about this, she often did so when he held a grudge she deemed unfair. It had happened frequently when Firion had started actually winning their sparring matches. This probably was not all that different... except that Leon had had the chance to best Firion at least once before granting forgiveness. This situation offered no such recompense. He would have to learn the lesson sooner or later, but later rather than sooner would afford him time to have his own way. Though lacking in productivity, it was still soothing to his bruised ego.

"I hope you can get over it soon," Benjamin offered helpfully, "maybe I can help. I hear I'm going to be on your squad for the day."

Leon felt his thoughts snap into focus, "My squad? What's Conlat have planned?" his gaze now focused on Benjamin, seeming to freeze the boy in his tracks. Unlike Alexander, Benjamin could apparently be intimidated. Leon would have to remember this... Removing his stare, he looked down at the crumbled bread in his hands instead, searching for a chunk big enough to fill his mouth for a moment. It would at least keep his thoughts occupied for a while.

"Sir Conlat informed us that today we would be performing our first undercover exercise," Benjamin proceeded eventually, "The royal family of Kashuan will be visiting and we are to pose as palace guards. Sir Conlat believes that they will be of adequate awareness for the purpose of the training; knowing of the customs of Fynn as well as how security _should_ act in addition to not being in very good touch with our personnel. We will each be issued a uniform and a standard longsword and be assigned to squads of three headed by our own of the Thorn's Edge. The squad leaders will be Leon, Samuel, Rochenst, and Guy."

For a moment, Leon blanked on the name of Samuel. He had not taken the time to acquaint himself with the other members of their order in the time of their arrival due to his more imminent need to sulk. Now he recalled that Samuel was one of the men from Altair; along with Thomas he had arrived the evening of the day after the arena match. Beyond that, Leon could only say that Samuel did not talk much and always responded in the most abbreviated form possible. He had yet to hear ten words out of the man.

"Why not Firion?" Guy asked, shifting uncomfortably. It was no secret to Leon that Guy did not enjoy leadership positions but the other side of the question did give him pause for more thought. Why had Firion not been selected as a group leader? True, his pairing with Paul in the arena exercise had not yielded favorable results, but all the rest of the week Firion had passed nearly every task with flying colors, including another leadership opportunity. It was baffling to consider Firion might not qualify for the role.

All eyes at the table settled on their silver haired companion, awaiting some form of speculation out of him. Firion gave them all a glance before clearing his throat and answering, "I suppose it just means Conlat wishes to test my abilities to a different effect."

"But he's seen what you can do," Leon argued. With a target in sight, he could finally release all his pent up annoyance with their situation. "Don't you think it's kind of odd that he doesn't use you when you're such a great choice?"

"Maybe its because I'm proficient in the area that he is sharpening my skills in other areas," Firion countered. Leon should have expected this... Firion saw strengths in balance of his weakness and attempted to cover everything. When Leon faced his weaknesses he did it by embracing his strengths. Although he doubted his brother would ever come to see it that way, he would never fail to be aggravated by this difference.

"Well if you're on my squad I promise you here and now I'll order you to be second in command. You wouldn't happen to know, would you Benjamin?"

"He's... um, that is..." Benjamin stalled. Leon wondered if he had given the lad the impression that a false answer would result in unsanctioned physical punishment. "I can only remember Sir Conlat stating the squads of those who were present. He didn't say anything about those who weren't in leadership roles."

"Fair enough," Leon sighed, this was not as satisfying as he had wished it would be, but he did feel a little better. Maybe today he would be able to turn things around to his liking...

"Say, Leon," Rochenst spoke up, "let us agree not to clash today, shall we? I think it would reflect well on your performance."

When he put it that way it sounded so much like it was a joint effort to benefit only Leon. "What's in it for you?"

Rochenst paused, "A chance at future alliance. I would rather not have you as an enemy."

"Huh," Leon could do little more than utter this and lean back in his chair so as to seem calculating. What did Rochenst mean by this? Was he planning something? Whatever it was, Leon did not really see the need for an alliance; he already had Firion and Guy at his back.

Firion put a hand on Leon's shoulder as he leaned in to whisper, "He's just asking for you to let go of your hard feelings over the match." Leon blinked, either that was just what Rochenst wanted him to think or Firion had once again read both sides of the argument and clarified. Sometimes Leon attributed this to Firion's fascination with multifaceted things, such as the many weapons to be used in battle. Assuming Firion was correct, this could definitely come around to help Leon in the future. However, the mere fact that Rochenst had tried so many times already for forgiveness gave him the impression that perhaps the man would help him whether or not he offered a truce.

"We'll see," Leon finally told Rochenst, "for now, I'll promise to keep my mind on the mission." A generous concession as it was.

"I'll accept what I can get," Rochenst answered, "Good luck today."

With this, he stood up and left the table. So that really was all he had come for... maybe Rochenst was more predictable than Leon gave him credit for.

"So... about being on your squad," Benjamin began, "I was wondering if-"

"Good morning, Firion, Guy, Leon," Conlat came up behind them, interrupting Benjamin's query. "Please report to you quarters when you've finished with breakfast. You've been issued standard uniforms for the castle guard. Change and meet me in the war room when ready, understood?"

After some misunderstandings during the first week, such as Conlat's unintentional omission of the war room's location, the captain had taken to adding "understood?" to the end of his orders unfailingly.

"Understood, sir," Leon said, making certain to speak clearly. Although he still did not like Conlat very much, he was not about to spit on the opportunity he had been waiting for. Getting up from the table, he began a swift march towards his quarters. Behind him, Firion and Guy belatedly acknowledged comprehension and followed on the route out of the mess hall.

"You're really serious about this?" Firion asked, his voice rich with hope that Leon was actually putting aside his feelings for the sake of the team.

Leon smiled lightly, "You could say that."

Although he was getting into a better mood, he still could not resist poking some fun at Firion's serious demeanor. Knowing his brother, the statement would bother him all day.

* * *

><p>Peace and quiet today, that was what Estol was looking forward to. He had ended up in a squad with both Samuel and Firion, two of the more serious aspects of the Thorn's edge. With companions like this, he would be free to contemplate other matters with minimal interference. After breakfast, Samuel had briefly outlined their instructions with the assistance of a floor plan found in the war room and they had begun guard duty in the throne room. Estol hypothesized that their placement was very much intentional; few other members seemed confident, skilled, and trustworthy enough for the matter. The majority of the time that the visitors would be in the castle was due to be spent in the throne room and it was important to ensure as little risk of discovery of that detachment as possible. With the selected staff, remaining professional and unnoticed would be much simpler than many other configurations.<p>

Estol scanned the room as he had been ordered to do periodically; at the throne, the King, his royal majesty Ordren II, and his daughter Hilda were engaged in a conversation with Mindu, a Mysidian and court mage to the King. Samuel stood near them, at attention, while Firion reciprocated Estol's position on the side. It did seem a bit scant of staff to have only three throne room guards, but the peaceful times would hopefully offset suspicions. Besides, the Kashuan royal family was coming as a diplomatic gesture of friendship between the two kingdoms; a throne room full of guards might be taken as a hostile gesture.

It was altogether quite delicate in his opinion. Back home in Salamand he had tracked many fiends on his own, learning many techniques concerning how to go unnoticed near particularly sensitive beasts and navigate dens with the least risk of encounter. Why, he had once even been through the entire Semitt Falls cavern complex without waking a single beast save the land turtle he was tracking. This was an entirely different situation; he wished to be seen but not noticed and act in protection rather than attack. He had always only had his own back to watch, expressly for the reason of avoiding liabilities. Thankfully, Firion seemed protective enough to cover in that area for him.

Come to think of it, there was a lot about Firion that caused Estol to pause for thought. The boy had silver hair, a hue usually seen only in Salamand, and yet they said he was from Fynn. The people of Salamand were loathe to leave their roots and thus Estol wondered how Firion had ended up this far south. Of course, his skill with weaponry was quite notable, having at least a basic understanding of any weapon in the conventional arsenal, and Estol knew of few in Salamand from whom he could have inherited such natural talent.

Firion matched Estol's subconscious stare with questioning eyes. Averting his gaze, Estol continued to scan the room, his thoughts mainly centering on when their guests would arrive and how best to situate his wide brimmed hat that had come with his uniform. The more visibility he sought, the more of his face he showed. Although his hair was not as stark white as most in Salamand, he did not want to raise any questions as to where he had come from. Salamand, along with the rest of the Northern province, was under the jurisdiction of Count Borghen. Although it was possible the Kashuanites would not realize it, Estol figured it would be very odd for such a far off region to be donating bodyguards.

Then again, Salamand was still a province of Fynn in an extremely vague sense, so he could be seen as a representative of the area. It was not untrue that he had volunteered to come to Fynn castle to join its ranks. Or rather, he had chosen to join Conlat's cause; the man seemed a bit more altruistic than nationalistic and that was just what the world needed. The Palamecian border had grown so tense that even Estol could no longer track monsters through the territory unnoticed. Something was astir and it smelled an awful lot like trouble.

Before he had the chance to brood further on the subject, the throne room doors opened and the Kashuan royal family was brought in, escorted by Rochenst's group. The King and Queen of Kashuan, Adelbert and Trina if Estol was remembering his facts correctly, as well as their two sons Scott and Gordon, which was a funny name for a prince in Estol's opinion. The Kashuanite naming motif was a mystery to him but each area had a right to its own oddities, some just took more advantage of that right than others.

"Welcome, friends!" King Ordren stood up from his throne, apparently finished talking with Mindu. Samuel saluted with his right hand while resting his left on his sword hilt, giving both Firion and Estol the cue to follow suite. Although it was not Estol's favored weapon, he had to admit that the sword was a fine choice for standard issue weaponry and also served well as a hand rest.

"We trust you had a safe journey?" The King continued, meeting the visiting group in the middle of the room. Turning to the members of the Thorn's Edge who were present he lifted his hand, indicating an imminent command, "please, bring chairs for us, they must be weary from the long trip."

Estol recalled that the chairs were stashed along the sides of the room past the curtain barrier that lined both sides of the throne chamber. He had come across them when sweeping the area in search of possible hidden threats. The Throne Room was actually rather enormous when not segmented by curtains, probably able to accommodate the whole village of Salamand and then some. It was said that such space had been necessary as a last stand for the castle garrison in past days, Estol wondered if it would serve such purpose again.

Passing through the curtain, he picked up two of the thirty or so stored chairs. Although they were not overwhelmingly heavy, being made of wood mostly, they were a bit cumbersome. Estol pondered for a moment the diplomatic repercussions of ungracefully presenting guests with seats.

"You need a hand?" Thomas, one of the members on Rochenst's team, asked softly as he approached from behind.

"Yes, thank you," Estol said, passing off one of the chairs to Thomas. Rochenst must have foreseen the difficulty and sent his men to follow. It seemed very much like the wizened ranger to do such a thing... Nearly forty, Rochenst had far more experience than any of them could possibly compare with. Every time Estol mentioned a region he had ventured to on a hunting trip, Rochenst would almost subconsciously mention he had been there and ask what the unique game in the area was like at that time of year. It had been a little unnerving at first but eventually Estol came to terms with the assumption that Rochenst was just trying to be friendly rather than constantly one-up him.

Passing back through the curtain, Estol refocused on elegantly delivering a chair for one of the guests. The royal party had relocated to the throne area and were waiting patiently, their backs to the doors as they discussed matters with King Ordren. Picking the outside of the the line up, Estol moved in behind whom he assumed to be one of the princes and placed his chair, taking note to synch up with Thomas and the others.

"Thank you, please leave us," King Ordren dismissed them.

An uncomfortable pause followed. "Sire," Samuel spoke up finally, "our orders were to guard the Throne Chamber."

"And I am amending those orders," The King replied patiently, "now please be on your way, there is no danger here and the matters we speak of may be of some sensitivity."

_All the more reason for us to stick around_, Estol thought to himself, knowing the point would not be wise to bring up at this particular moment.

"Very well, sire," Samuel said, finishing with a grand total of twelve words, the most Estol had ever heard out of him at one time. The members of the Thorns Edge filed out of the room and closed the doors.

"You don't suppose Conlat will be very pleased, do you?" Thomas commented, shifting in place.

Rochenst sighed, "No... but there's not much to be done for that. You did the right thing Samuel. I would suggest at least standing guard at the door for now though. I'll report to Conlat with my squad and apologize for the situation. And... I don't believe I need to tell you but do keep quiet. The worst we can do now is make a ruckus outside of the door and annoy his majesty."

Samuel nodded, sticking with his record word count, and moved to the side of the antechamber. Reluctantly, Estol followed. Although he had been looking forward to silence the conversation in the throne room held his speculation for the moment and likely the rest of the day. What could be so sensitive? What did they have to hide? But then again, if there was naught to hide anywhere there would be no need for the Thorn's Edge. He settled on this thought, accepting that he would be wondering for the rest of the afternoon what was going on in the world.

* * *

><p>The afternoon was not as eventful as Paul usually experienced on misty days such as this. Were he at his own whim he would undoubtedly be attempting a sack of the Palamecian treasury and making a daring escape into the Mysidian wilds. Instead he was pacing empty halls with a moody teenager as his leader and a skittish lad from Poft as his partner in action, if their activity could be called action...<p>

"So you are the Thorn's Edge," the voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Even with his excellent sense of hearing, the intruder had snuck up on them. Turning as a group with hands on swords, they found themselves facing a man clad all in white with a turban on his head and a cowl over his mouth. In his hands he held a wooden staff, of Mysidian make if Paul was not mistaken; of course, the man's wardrobe already gave heavy hints that he originated from that region. Oh the irony that Mysidia would come to him...

"We are simply guards on patrol in the name of His Royal Majesty, Ordren II," Leon stated, leaving his hand on the hilt of his blade. At least the boy was stepping up to his role as leader... "Who are you and what business do you have in this castle?"

"I am the Court White Mage, Mindu," the man introduced himself, bowing, "also in the service of His Majesty. Tell me, guards, why have I not seen you about regularly? Where has Roth gone off to?"

Paul had been in this situation over a hundred times... and wished it was hyperbole to say so in almost every instance. They were being baited. Mindu already knew they did not belong but he was trying to lure them into giving him a concrete reason to say so. Roth must have been one of the regular guards that were not on duty today. Paul could either blow their cover by acting insubordinate or allow Leon to break it with his ignorance. If he allowed Leon to do it, he would not have to bear any responsibility for the matter but if he did intervene he could possibly gain a little of the boy's trust. Then again... Leon did not seem to have the most thankful disposition in history as it was and the effort could be a waste of breath.

"H-he was given leave for today by Sir Conlat," Benjamin spoke up.

Leon visibly paused a moment; Paul could not really blame him for that one, it had not even seemed a remote possibility that Benjamin would offer any support in this situation.

"Yes, that's the case," Leon confirmed, "although I'm not surprised a Court Magician isn't involved in the guard rotation schedule."

Paul held back a wince, that last part really had not been necessary.

"Indeed," Mindu agreed. Paul could imagine an amused grin just beneath that cowl. "Perhaps I ought to work a little more closely with Sir Conlat."

"If such should please you," Leon replied briskly, "now if you will allow us to continue our patrol..."

"In a moment," Mindu said, turning his head to the sound of approaching footsteps, "first I think we should all discuss these matters with Sir Conlat himself."

"I'm a little busy at the moment," Conlat informed him flatly, not breaking pace as he lead Rochenst's group down the hall, "leave my men be."

"Ah, but these new recruits show some promise, Sir Conlat, I must commend you on your choice."

Conlat stopped dead in his tracks, "promise for what?"

"They may have some talent with the tomes of old. I would rather enjoy instructing them, given your permission."

"Guards have no use for Magics, Mindu, what would the other countries think of making such a power standard issue? Sounds a bit hostile, don't you think?"

"I concur, regular guards have no use for such augments," Mindu said calmly, "but a specialized unit like the one you're putting together might find it handy. Besides, what is there to be frightened of in white magics? Their aim is only to heal and protect."

"Unless, of course, we are referring to Holy and Ultima," Conlat answered, showing that he was not completely uninformed on the subject, "but those ones are beyond thine skill so perhaps I ought not worry."

"Beyond my knowledge, not my skill," Mindu countered, his feathers ruffling for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, "they would be of little use in today's world anyway."

"If such is your view then I would suggest you stay out of these matters. Peace is our current objective, not our current practice."

Mindu shrugged, "The world is at peace. Whatever happens now has been ordained long before; it is far too late to change the course as drastically as you seek to do. But your mindset is not completely lost to me, that is why I requested the King's permission to assist you in their training the minute I learned about this little project."

The words seemed to hit Conlat like a cold slap to the face. Paul gathered that the man was not on good terms with Mindu, but he could not fully discern why yet. If Conlat was not careful though, he could lose control of the Thorn's Edge, and that was a consequence Paul could agree was worth worrying over.

Even if Paul did not believe he was the best of choices for a group like the Thorn's Edge, he still felt Conlat was just the man to head such an organization. Conlat was active enough that he would be able to do something with his resources, someone like Mindu seemed content for things to flow as they were. In Paul's line of work, it was he who acted first and decisively that attained his goal, somehow he assumed the same was true for military action.

"I'll... see what I can do to open up the schedule," Conlat said slowly. It did occur to Paul that there were certain diplomatic lines that needed to be respected in this situation, but he did not entirely expect Conlat to follow them to their letter. Of course, it could simply be his more devious nature speaking, but he still felt something new was afoot for the Thorn's Edge, and it did not include instruction from Mindu. Paul's instinct was simply to run from his problems most of the time, he wondered how Conlat would handle it. From what he could perceive, people around these parts were not particularly inclined to follow his line of thought; but perhaps he would be lucky for once. A man could dream after all...

"Good," Mindu nodded in satisfaction, "perhaps you are more reasonable than I give you credit for, Imross. Tomorrow then."

A rare usage of Conlat's first name; Paul guessed it to be a sign of friendship. Given Conlat's attitude toward the man in their current conversation though it was highly likely this would not count for much in the overall scheme of things.

"Yes, tomorrow," Conlat sighed, apparently resigned to the fact that Mindu was going to force his way into the training of the recruits no matter what opposition he faced. However, although Mindu went on his merry way, Conlat still stood in the hall; his previously pressing task forgotten as he glared into the back of the Mage's turbaned head.

"We were on our way to the Throne room, sir?" Rochenst suggested, not nearly as preoccupied as his commanding officer.

"We were," Conlat agreed, his voice low, "but we are only going so far as the antechamber; and from there, the war room. Leon, find Guy and meet us there, your orders are about to change. Understood?"

Paul saw no small coincidence there; maybe he would get his wish of escaping the castle after all...

"Understood sir," Leon answered, already moving off toward the assigned patrol route Guy's group would be moving on, "Paul, Benjamin, hurry it up."

Sighing to himself, Paul made mental note that he might not ever want to work under Leon again. The lad took himself so seriously, and had a nasty habit of treating people as if they were incompetent. Of course, Paul could only be forming a negative image of the boy due to the blows received in the arena but he would like to think he had more probable cause than that.

They did not take long to locate Guy, convincing him took a minute or two longer though.

"Leon not mutan...mutton...turning on Conlat. Right?"

"He's not. I can vouch for him," Paul offered, stepping into the conversation. He was eager to return to the war room and find out what Conlat had planned.

"..."

Paul then recalled that Guy, like his brothers, did not trust those that partook of acts of thievery. How unfortunate... maybe if he had introduced himself as a treasure hunter they would have gotten along better.

"I can confirm the statement," Benjamin said, supporting Paul's claim, "Sir Conlat himself told us to fetch you and return to the war room for an alteration of our orders."

"... Guy accept this," Guy told them, though he still sounded quite reluctant. Paul noted that Guy did not speak very often but when he did he spoke in the third person... and with broken syntax. The lad did not seem addle-pated so much as simply unadjusted to society. It was as if he were a foreigner to their language, and yet, what other tongue could he be acquainted with then? Paul could think of no living human invention for communication other than the common speech they all employed.

Paul allowed himself to play around with the question so as to keep his mind occupied while they walked at a quick pace back to the war room.

"Good, you weren't delayed," Conlat greeted them, apparently not minding the extra time afforded to Guy's convincing, "as of now, your training will become an off site practice. I pray you are all prepared for this-"

"You've finally got a proper mission for us?" Alexander interrupted excitedly.

"...Yes," Conlat continued, seeming to voluntarily emphasize the pause, "I am sending you in groups of four to three different locations for some minimal investigative purposes. Estol, Firion, Guy, and Paul will be headed to the Salamand area; they will meet up with a contact of mine and look into the prospects of a mythril deposit in the area. If we can procure the metal we will be able to create adequate weapons and armor for our current purposes, given we can find a smith. Leon, Warren, Benjamin, and Alexander will look into the recruitment of such an individual. Meanwhile, Rochenst, Thomas, Samuel, and Darrion will go into the Kashuan area and scout the possibilities of wild Chocobos. Should we be able to find some, we will near double our mobility over land and be able to cross natural barriers with greater ease. Speaking of which... you will have to decide for yourselves how to reach your locations. The land routes through Palamecia are inadvisable given the current border lock-down. Thus, you will either have to pass through the mountains or find a way to cross over lake Hammend, both stand in the way to Paloom, our gateway to the ocean, and the coastal route up to the Salamand area. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" the Thorn's Edge answered in unison, some notably more enthusiastic than others but all with crisp discipline.

"Oh, and one more thing," Conlat added, "Count Borghen controls the province you will be operating in. Rochenst's group will pay a visit to him for diplomatic reasons once their mission is complete. The rest of you are to keep yourselves out of his gaze though. Even if he has sworn loyalty to Fynn, it is for his own good that he be kept in the dark for now. Information is not as easy to control once it leaks from the source and I'd rather not let on our activities to _anyone_ just yet. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

Sir Conlat smiled, a tired but satisfied smile, "then let us begin our work. You have the rest of the day to pack provisions and to spend as you wish. First thing tomorrow, I want you at the stables and ready to ride. Dismissed."

Paul acknowledged that he probably would not have the greatest time in the world with Guy and Firion, but he was happy to know he would be roaming the world again... even if it was towards its most frigid and unwelcoming corners.

* * *

><p>AN: For this Chapter I feel I took a liberal spin on Leon's personality. Notice in FF II that he is loathe to get outside his own head and forgive himself. I decided to take this in another direction of just being stubborn to think in his own way. Between here and the FF II storyline something must have happened to serious him up though... maybe I'll get something to that effect in later. I guess I just wanted a character who doesn't solve all his problems in his head right away. Leon seems like he could be usefully lazy like that given the right circumstances. Also, introducing the various OCs that make up the Thorn's Edge is proving to be something of a challenge. I hope they are all staying individual and are not melting together too much... Stay tuned for the next chapter and again thank you for choosing something that isn't mainstream.


	4. A Step Behind the Forward Force

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

**Chapter 4: A Step Behind the Forward Force**

The starry sky seemed to loom low above Fynn castle. Perhaps it was the hint of clouds drifting in from the Mysidian isthmus, left over from a storm down south. Although Imross understood that this implied soggy conditions for Gatrea and Altair, he was glad it had not hit the mountains. The members of the Thorn's Edge that sought to cross over that way would have more than enough difficulty as it was. Beside the point, he could take advantage of the ever so slightly more prolonged absence of moisture in the air and write out the additional instructions for each group by lamp light out doors, were there a recent concentration from rainfall the paper would spoil too easily.

He regretted that Mindu had cut short the possibility of training the Thorn's Edge at the castle but it had only been a matter of time before he would have had to send them out anyway. The portions of the Castle that contained the war room were scheduled for decommissioning soon due to additional parts of the peace treaty being written in an attempt to stop Palamecia from anything drastic. Imross would be surprised if the messenger bearing that news got away with so much as a polite nod and further refusal of compliance. He would have to find a new headquarters for them as well as another person to lead them in their beginning stages. Roth Senfire would do nicely so long as an excuse could be found.

Although he had not wished to say so at the meeting, there would also be group leaders for this set of missions that would lead each squad and act as their voice on most matters of contact with the public at large. Firion, Leon, and Rochenst would fill these roles for varying reasons. Firion seemed the most conscious of his group when it came to communication and would not let his sense of adventure get the better of him; Leon, conversely, was chosen because Imross wanted him to learn an appreciation for his team mates. It was not likely the boy would be ready to find a master smith on his own and the follow up of finding suitable headquarters would also be beyond his skill. If Leon could grasp that the Thorn's Edge was a team based organization, they would all be better off for it. Beside the point was that Imross already sensed a longing for leadership in the boy and wished to give him a shot at it. Lastly, Rochenst was the most experienced, most reliable, and most capable of them all and thus was an obvious choice for the third group leader.

With these qualities in mind, Imross began writing out the extended instructions that would be discovered by each of the groups this morning when they met him at the stables. For Firion's group, a scouting of Walst, a small village that lay in the wilds southwest of Semitt Falls, would be in order. It was mostly a community of hunters but strange rumors concerning Palamecian interests had begun to form around the secluded town. Via a small and dangerous mountain trail, a group could jump straight from Fynn into the general area and it would be on their way up to Salamand besides. If Palamecia truly was planning something though, it would be within their better interests to find out how they planned to assault a settlement only a stones throw from Fynn without being noticed.

Leon, probably much to the lad's disappointment, would be looking into much less...volatile aspects of their interests. After the completion of his survey of the smiths in the area, he would also be tasked with finding a new site for headquarters well within the Fynn borders, which left out border villages like Beregold, Nilt, and Cayoef. If Palamecia or another nation were to attack, those would be the first places to be wiped off the map. Beside the point, Nilt was south of Bafsk, bordering Kashuan. Though such an outpost would allow them a buffer zone it would also leave them in fear of discovery by Kashuan. The ideal location would be one padded from attack and investigation but not too advantageous as to be obvious. Altair might do...

As for Rochenst, he would be looking into the expansion of Bafsk's military and economic possibilities. Being hedged against the mountains with quick access to lumber from the forest and possible mineral deposits in the mountains themselves, it might be a good place for developing a defensive line against Palamecian assault should Kashuan fall. Also...creating a port on the other shore near Bafsk might allow for contact with Deist. Unfortunately, such aspirations would require further approval from the king and would likely not go unnoticed. For now, they would have to settle for noting the merits of the idea and moving on.

Imross also pondered ordering Rochenst to make contact with Cid, his former superior and master mechanic, but thought better of it. If they ever required that man's help it could yet wait. Once the leader of the White Knights of Fynn, Cid had turned his back on that life in order to pursue dreams of building an airship. Granted, he had achieved the feat and remarkably well at that, but Imross still felt the man had left his duty a bit early. There was yet work to be done in the world...

Sighing, Imross placed his seal upon each message and gathered them in his arms. The night was beginning to give way to morning and he had an appointment to keep.

The members of the Thorn's Edge were just saddling up as he met them. The horses of Fynn made good warmounts, but could not compare to the speed and versatility afforded by Chocobos. As it was, Firion's group would have to go without mounts to cross the mountains. Handing the orders to the respective group leaders, he gave them each a few final suggestions and sent them on their way before Mindu could appear and complicate things. Although the Mage seemed to mean well, he sought a destiny that would cause much ruin to the world before it could heal. Imross only sought to shorten the process and purge the bringer of ruin before that happened. There were foul things afoot and he wished to see them solved. The fiends of legend were awakening and those already in the world were acting with more belligerence than usual. Although it could be written off as coincidence, yesterday he had received a report that a seasoned militia of monster hunters had disappeared while hunting down trolls near the Palamecian border up by Beregold under his commission. The trolls could not have been enough to wipe out the entire group, not even if they had come upon a tribe of them. With the general unwillingness of the King to allow Imross funds for pursuing further recruitment, a gesture he suspected Mindu was behind, the relocation of his resources into the Thorn's Edge had been all he could do; he just hoped it would be enough. Twelve men of innate skill and a series of missions meant to hone them to their maximum potential. It had begun, and he would not let it end until they could rest easy, even if it meant pursuing the forces of darkness to the mythical jade passage and beyond. Nothing would stop them...

* * *

><p>The relationship between altitude and heat was becoming not only quite apparent but also quite a nuisance to Guy as he tugged his cloak tighter about himself. Although he knew it would do little enough good bemoaning the circumstances since the mountain range was not getting any shorter, he still would have liked to go the coastal route that the other groups were enjoying. Of course, the other groups were not headed to Salamand post haste.<p>

"Frosty, eh?" Paul asked, coming alongside him with that everpresent, self-satisfied smile, "not exactly the cheeriest of weather for anyone."

Guy tried to keep his gaze ahead where Estol lead the procession with an unrelenting step, seemingly unaffected by the climatic conditions, "Even Estol?"

"He's from Salamand, they're used to it up there. Why, he'd probably laugh at us calling this cold."

"..." So it would get worse? Guy began considering walking all the way back to the castle and begging Conlat to allow him to join Rochenst's group. At any rate, if he was going to be doing this regularly, he would decidedly start saving up towards additional clothing; his cloak did not feel quite sufficient enough to block out the effects of the mountain winds.

"At least when we survey Semitt falls we'll have the breeze off our backs, eh?"

"..." A cold, damp cave by torch light, that was decidedly not what Guy was looking forward to.

"Is the thinning of the air getting to you? We can slow down," Firion called over his shoulder. Guy had not realized it up until now but his brother was not too far behind Estol. He would think that similar climates of upbringing would leave himself and his brother with the same tolerance for prevailing weather conditions, but apparently Firion was just as hardy as the boy from Salamand. Guy was aware that Firion was not originally from Fynn, but he would never have guessed his brother could acclimate so quickly to the stark cold they now faced. Winter was in its March death throes and he suspected they were getting the worst of it, which made it all the more impressive that Firion was holding out as well as he was; Guy would have a few questions for him later.

"I'd assume he's fine," Paul called back falling slightly behind, "let's just get over this mountain so we can set up camp and rest."

"We'll be camping barely a mile past the peak of the range," Firion informed them, "unless you'd like to try our luck going down in the dark. I've been consulting with Estol and given our current rate and his projections, we won't be able to make it off of the mountains until midday tomorrow."

Guy grimaced and quickened his pace up the narrow road; if he was able to do anything to get them into a more hospitable environment faster, he would not mind the limp he would likely experience the rest of the journey. He had learned a long time ago to plow through the path given to him if it did not fit his taste and so far the philosophy had held true. As he neared Estol's position near the front of the path though, the boy from Salamand barred his path, forcing him to either conform to the set speed or risk one of them going over the edge of the precipice.

"Tis better to pace thineself than to expend all your energy at once," Estol said calmly, though going just a little faster, "Besides, the rocks are icy up ahead, you won't want to be barreling down that path full speed."

"Guy want off mountain." He really could care less about what Estol would think of his diction at this point.

"So I've gathered, but I would suppose staying alive is of equal concern. There does happen to be a reason why most people don't take this path."

"Though I wouldn't mind a little haste if possible," Firion added, joining them from behind followed closely by Paul, "let's try to stick together and see just how far down the mountain we can make it before nightfall. Besides, on the bright side there's no snow clouds on the horizon."

Though a small mercy, Guy did have to admit that he was grateful for the lack of additional troubles. He could also add that they had not encountered any hostile creatures thus far, a seemingly odd but welcome circumstance given the growing concentration of monsters throughout the Kingdom of Fynn.

"Yes... one would think it a perfect day for a hike were we not just exiting winter," Estol said wryly. "Now if I just had my Chocobo and were off hunting Mysidian Maloboros, this would be a well spent afternoon."

Guy did not see the appeal of the situation but it did give him a little insight into Estol: the man enjoyed adventuring and high risk situations; or, more likely, the reward for such endeavors. Guy had heard that Maloboro vines were in hot demand in various markets around the world.

"...but you're not," Paul noted emphatically after giving the silence time to ripen. Guy could not help but wonder as to whether the thief was pointing this out for practical purposes or to dash Estol's dreams for his own amusement.

"Which is why I did not say _this_ was a well spent afternoon."

"If this sort of endeavor does not fit your taste, then why did you join the Thorn's Edge?" Firion asked, smoothly shifting the subject off of their disappointments and onto their aspirations. He seemed quite fond of doing that often.

Estol paused, keeping his gaze ahead. Guy figured he was contemplating his response but it was just as likely he had just withdrawn. In his short time knowing the man, Estol had not seemed very inclined to continue conversations he did not feel satisfied with.

"Well why did you join, Firion?" Paul asked, giving Estol an opening to escape their attention, "You seem the more likely to be a soldier than an man in the shadows."

Firion frowned contemplatively, "Is that really what you think the Thorn's Edge is meant for?"

"'We are to keep our identities and origins secret', isn't that what old Imross said?"

"...You mean, Sir Conlat?" Firion queried, apparently taking a second to translate the statement. Guy felt he could not blame his brother for the pause though, never had any of them referred to Sir Conlat by his other name. What did he need another name for anyway?"

"Of course I mean Sir Imross Conlat, our great and fearless leader."

"Why he have two names?"

"Hmm? Oh...I would suppose he is either of noble descent or comes from the proud Isle of Deist," Paul suggested offhand. "It doesn't matter much either way, for my question still stands."

"Just because you work in secret does not exclude one from being a sower of light," Firion answered him. "I will use the knowledge and skill I acquire here to achieve my own 'idealistic' goals someday."

"My, my, don't you have your sights set a little high?" Paul grinned impishly. "That's a pretty lofty aspiration to be seeking."

Firion shrugged off the thoughtless comment; although out of all the brothers Firion had the most slender frame, he seemed to take a physical beating just as well as he took a mental assault, which was much better than either Guy or Leon. It befuddled Guy to consider that a wiry lad like Firion could take more punishment in either area than himself but they had often used this to their advantage when taken in the context of hunting and sparring. Firion did not mind getting up-close-and-personal to land a hit on his opponent because he knew he could either evade, block, or take whatever was being served out at him.

"I'm only answering your question," Firion told Paul. Miraculously, he was able to keep his voice clean of contempt, "let time tell whether or not it is beyond my capabilities."

"I suppose that's fair," Paul conceded cheerfully. Guy began to suspect that he had ulterior motives to his question, but let it go for now. Despite the passage of two weeks, they were only marginally closer to understanding each other as opposed to when they had begun; and in Guy's mind, trust was only bequeathed upon what he understood to be without malicious intent. Currently, Paul had failed to add himself to the list in addition to making several steps in the opposite direction.

"You still haven't answered, Estol," Firion said, snagging their wayward companion back into the conversation, "why did you choose a life of assignment as opposed to your life of freedom?"

Estol gave them a reproachful look over his shoulder, probably attempting to communicate that they had infringed on his right to silence. Unfortunately for him, Firion was dauntless when it came to the assertion of "supposed rights".

"I came because sooner or later my life of freedom would have been eclipsed by an unbound Palamecia," Estol admitted, "I would have just as soon attempted it on my own but Sir Conlat's men were offering me a chance to do it with peripheral assistance."

"And a safety net besides," Paul offered helpfully, "I don't doubt you realize the consequences of getting caught opposing Palamecia without a soul waiting in the wings to come to your rescue; I certainly did not think you to be so addle-pated as to consider such a thing."

"A...addle-pated?" Estol asked, offended by both what he thought Paul to be insinuating and the audacity of the man to use unknown vocabulary; undoubtedly a low blow to his standards.

"Mentally... lacking," Paul explained smoothly. Estol appeared ready to reduce their party by one.

"Well what drove you to add to our ranks?" Firion interrupted, shooting Estol a restraining stare. Reluctantly, he refocused on the path ahead.

"Same reason as Estol," Paul said casually, "only I'd still rather someone else do the job. But you know what they say, if you want it done right..."

"Have someone who knows what they're doing do it for you?" Estol muttered, uncannily in sync with the dying of the wind that would have covered the comment from the rest of the group.

"...You might just have an idea there," The thief almost took it in perfect stride, "point-in-case: I'll leave the retorts to you in the future."

Guy heard Firion chuckle, "I'm glad to see you know when to admit you've been outdone."

"Just one of my many talents Sir Conlat sought to turn to his cause," Paul bowed while still following behind, "perhaps even you shall see the use of me sooner or later."

At this point, Guy could very safely wager two things were occurring. Estol was probably rolling his eyes and Paul was probably fairly certain that he had successfully avoided giving an honest answer as to why he had decided to join the Thorn's Edge. Guy also had the feeling this was not the last occurrence of either. However, he was satisfied to wait for Paul to become a little more secure before springing the question again. The man would be on his guard after that last attempt and Guy did not see him giving up easily.

The rest of the day was spent in relative silence but felt lighter of heart to the companions. They continued into the night until they came upon a wide overlook that surveyed the valley on the other side of the mountain range and pitched their tents there. They ate a dinner of dried meat over an exchange of hunting (and in Paul's case, burglaring ) stories before heading to off to bed.

Guy rose early to repack and rethink his evaluations of Paul. The man was not a simple matter, though Guy had never assumed he would be, but perhaps there was more in his speech to betray his true intent than he had planned. It was often said that liars felt most accomplished when sharing half the truth and Guy was determined to discover which parts were true.

Paul often made some frivolous comment about how he was not entirely given to their assigned work and yet he always seemed cheerful...or perhaps that was too strong a word for his sly machinations.

_Keep your friends close and your enemies closer_. Guy grunted, was Paul only taking on duties in the Thorn's Edge to further a more devious agenda? Was he accepting that his actions had not gone unnoticed by the crown and was thus putting himself in a position where they _thought_ they had a hold on him? Guy would not put it past Paul's intelligence to think up such a risky plan; he also would not put it past Paul's intelligence to pull it off correctly. The thief, though disagreeable, had proven himself quite mentally agile in the past two weeks. For all Guy knew, he was being made to out-think himself on purpose; he needed some fresh air to clear his head.

Pulling back the flap that served as the entrance to the tent, Guy stepped outside to gaze upon the frigid peaks that they would leave behind today. Although he would not be sorry to see this particular scenery go, he was in the habit of taking stock of his surroundings. In his childhood, he had learned the importance of being able to retrace a path back to safety. Living in the wild, being raised by beasts, Guy had been able to survive by an unrelenting development of his senses and a firm grasp of when a retreat to higher ground was necessary.

Guy smiled wryly, he recalled the early days of his integration into human society. Leon had adamantly instructed him in the art of walking upright and Firion had helped him refine his hunting skill. They had once asked him if it was difficult to hunt beasts after living among them. Guy had given them a blank look before attempting to explain that each species of beast saw all others as fair game. Perhaps it was his lack of vocabulary, but Firion and Leon had not been able to grasp the concept for a whole six months afterwords. Maria, on the other hand, seemed to understand a little more. She was the one who had taken on the task of helping him speak "human". Guy missed his adoptive sister now more than ever. Although not always the greatest listener, Maria did a fair job of helping him make sense of everything.

At least he still had Firion though...Guy dreaded the day when Conlat saw fit to assign him to an entirely different squad away from either of his siblings.

Staring into the valley, Guy wondered how much he would be able to enjoy this trip with so many worries lying over his head. The smoke rising from the far side of the trees that populated the gap seemed to mirror his situation: intangible, distracting, and caused by yet another occurrence.

It took a moment for his mind to make the connection between the presence of smoke where it had not been the evening before and the possibility of danger.

"Firion!"

A heartbeat later, his brother scrambled out of their tent, a sword clenched his hand.

"What's wrong, Guy?" Firion asked, doing his own scan of the surroundings. Satisfyingly, he locked onto the pillar of smoke before Guy had time to point. It seemed things were about to get busy, and Guy was perfectly fine with that.

It meant Paul was going to be too occupied to give him anything else to think about.

* * *

><p>Benjamin lifted his pack onto his shoulders with a sigh, all of yesterday had been spent traversing the land to Gatrea and inquiring about a smith. Although the town had yielded no such individual, Leon had been kind enough to decide they would spend the night at the inn instead of walking a stones throw out of town to set up tents. Luckily for him, their leader had also refused to get moving until the sun rose, affording him valuable time to poke around and satisfy his own curiosity about the settlement.<p>

The first thing he sought to know was whether or not Gatrea lacked walls because of an able fighting populace or because of some other mechanism. No monsters roamed the streets, even in the time before daybreak, and it seemed the world was quiet and peaceful here. A stream ran through the middle of town, breaking the silence with its contemplative gurgling.

Benjamin turned away from the water, he would need to concentrate or his time would run out with nothing to show for it. Marching off to the edge of town, he began examining the trees for unique properties. If nothing else, he was coming to the conclusion that they would make an excellent airship if put to the task. Walking around the tree's circumference in order to get a feel for how much lumber it would produce, he ran into his first surprise for the day.

She leapt out and threw her hand against his mouth before he could cry out in surprise. The impact driving air from his lungs as he hit the ground furthered her desired effect of keeping him silent.

"Don't say a word," she ordered firmly, "I know Leon knows where you are and I know exactly what you're doing for him. I'm _not_ about to go back so _you_ are going to tell him you did not find any trace you were being followed, got it?"

Benjamin wheezed in response and desperately motioned for her to remove herself from his chest where she was currently inhibiting his respiratory functions.

Giving him an intense glare before realizing his intent, the girl scrambled off but crouched close enough to restrict his airflow again at a moments notice.

"W-who in the world are you?" Benjamin asked in a hoarse whisper, still a little shaken by all that had transpired in the immediate past.

"I'm giving the questions for now, thank you," the girl stated assertively, "now promise you're not going to report my presence to Leon."

"... I can only do that if you are not a smith capable of working with mythril."

The girl brushed back her dark hair and sighed in relief, "Good. I can't do anything of the sort. I'm Maria by the way."

"Benjamin," he replied, gesturing towards himself, "pleased to make your...err...rather determined countenance."

"I'm not losing track of my brother," she explained in a matter of fact tone, "Father said to keep an eye on him and I intend to keep following until he returns to Fynn."

To Fynn...Leon was from Fynn. "So Leon's your brother?"

"...Yes, I'm glad were on the same page now."

Benjamin blushed, were he a greater master of his tongue he would know not to say such things out loud. Alas, he had spent his time mastering his mind and machinery instead.

"Anyway, I hope you can understand why its so important then that you don't say anything to Leon."

"...Please, elaborate further," Benjamin requested, still a little befuddled by all this.

Maria groaned, "If Leon knows I'm following him, he'll break from his assigned task to set a trap for me and waste valuable time all to send me back home. It is in neither of our better interests to have this happen."

"Well...I suppose I can assist by remaining silent." Benjamin conceded, "You won't make a habit of jumping me, will you?"

"Wha-? No! No...you just startled me. I didn't think anyone would be - why were you up anyways?"

"I was just curious as to why this town lacks walls. Most other settlements this size have them."

"You're an odd one, Benjamin of..."

"Poft. Northernmost port town of the world," Benjamin provided. "Also site of the world's only airship dock, utilized by Cid."

"...Anyway, just know that I'll be out of sight, watching your backs, and not to be found. Maybe you should be getting back to the others."

Benjamin thought on this for a moment. Yes, despite his best efforts to reserve time for himself it seemed that daylight would soon approach and they would have to set out again. He could always conduct a more thorough inquiry into the nature of this town on their way back but it would be bothering him the whole way.

"Say, Maria. Do you suppose-?"

"Shhh! Get down!" Maria hissed, pulling him to the ground and once again covering his mouth.

Benjamin frantically searched for the cause of concern before picking up on the sound of soft footsteps and low voices.

"I still haven't been told how we'll be compensated."

"But isn't this the life you wanted?"

"Not if I can't pay for the necessary attributes for a full life."

"Alexander...you would not have the time to enjoy a full life if they gave you gil enough for a king."

"I'd find a way. Perhaps I should 'ave stuck with monster hunting, pursued the knowledge Rochenst offered."

"Your path is chosen, brother, will you not accept it?"

"...I'll do my best. If we pass through on the way back I'll give you my answer."

"Good. I'd hate for my brother to go off and do something regrettable."

"The night grows thin, Kathryn, you'd best get home."

"Yes, brother. May the care of the creator watch over you."

"...Farewell."

The footsteps faded out as the voices dropped to silence. Benjamin looked wide eyed over at Maria.

"Alexander?"

Maria nodded, her eyes narrowing in thought, "So... he has a sister looking out for him too."

Benjamin squirmed uncomfortably, "You know, Maria," he began hesitantly, "if you are calculating the odds of recruiting that girl..."

"Already considered," she answered, "I don't know enough about her yet. Besides, for such a short term goal it might not be worth it to drag her in."

"...but what about me?"

"Sorry about that," her apology actually did sound sincere, "you kind of stumbled into the wrong situation. Don't worry though, as I've said I don't intend to follow you forever. Just until Leon returns to Fynn."

Now would not be a time for Benjamin to bring up their alternate orders: finding an off-site base of operations for the Thorn's Edge. It seemed to him that Sir Conlat did not intend for them to return to Fynn due to the interference of Mindu, the White Wizard of Mysidia. But if he did not tell her now she would be tagging along and risking discovery for nothing. If she left now there would not be as much ground to cover alone on her way back home.

Despite having been spontaneously attacked by the girl, Benjamin wished her little ill. So long as she did not interfere with their mission he saw no reason to make things harder for her.

"About returning..."

"You don't know how long it's going to take, huh?" she inserted for him, "that's fine, I can wait. I've got a promise to keep."

She was gone before he could stutter out a correction. Shaking his head to himself, he started off again. How did one go about the business of _not_ noticing anyway? Between this and heeding Leon's orders, he would be fairly hard pressed to his learning curve.

"Good mornin', Benjamin," Warren, the former deckhand from Paloom, greeted him as he approached the inn. "Master Leon told me to wait for ye. The others are waiting outside of town with the horses."

"Alright, let's go then," Benjamin replied, quite relieved that they were not inquiring into his predawn whereabouts. This relief soon proved to be unfounded.

"We don't have time for snooping around," Leon said sternly as they caught up. "We've got an important assignment to tend to. From now on, you'll check in with me before attending to personal pursuits."

Benjamin looked longingly back towards the tranquil town and its mysterious ward, "I...I understand, sir. I'll try to keep that in mind for future-"

"Good," Leon acknowledged crisply. Benjamin could not help but wonder if he had been intentionally cut off.

The rest of the day's ride was to take them closer to Altair, the southern most town of Fynn's holdings. From what Benjamin could gather, it was the central hub for a coastal plains agricultural community. Framed by rivers and thick forests but blessed with great visibility upon the coastal plains it formed a natural haven that was easily defensible. It was even rumored that the worst species of fiends had been eradicated from the area and now only weaker varieties lingered for the purpose of hunting exercises.

It was decidedly a sight that Benjamin was looking forward to enjoying. Unfortunately, they probably would only make it three-quarters of the way today, placing them right outside the fenced in area of safety. Even with horses, they could only take a moderate pace due to flooding in the area from rainfall. It made him wonder how Maria had ever managed to keep pace with them on the way over to Gatrea when that route had been free of the previously noted hampering conditions.

"Ye be feelin' well?" Warren asked, riding up beside him, "Though I s'pose ye wouldn't be alone. Young Alexander's mind is elsewhere as well. Did something happen in Gatrea?"

"No, I- It's nothing," Benjamin assured his companion, "I guess I just didn't get enough sleep."

Warren laughed,"I s'pose that's what you get for getting up early to poke around town. Master Leon may not be a paragon but he apparently knows his limits fairly well. An interesting young man, to be sure, wouldn't you say?"

Benjamin recognized that he too was no paragon, but Warren's easy-going acceptance of his answers was reassuring. His speech was decidedly tainted in the fashion of his past trade as a sailor, though lacking in the typical repertoire of ready expletives. He seemed to be an honest and upright man, willing to tolerate the nuances of others and take things in stride. For one whose work would have likely been dependent upon the whims of others, Benjamin supposed that Warren had adapted well.

As an aspiring machinist, he identified the need for diversity in a system, but that did not stop him from appreciating the fact that some pieces meshed better than others. Perhaps time would wear them into place though...once they all got on the same page.

* * *

><p>AN: Benjamin Narrative! Maria has made her official entrance and may hang around for a while now. I'm sorry this took so long; school and work have combined forces to keep me busy. Also, for those who are wondering: Benjamin blushes because he is embarrassed, not because of any romantic awkwardness between himself and Maria.


	5. Smoke and Fears

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

**Chapter 5: Smoke and Fears**

Firion raced upon the forest trail, his pack thumping with each wild bound.

"Come on!" he shouted to his squad mates, "it should only be a mile ahead!"

"Only?" Paul wheezed with ragged breath, following as closely as he could, "I thought...you were just... an ordinary... peasant boy!"

Guy grunted, although he matched Firion's speed for now, it was evident he would not be able to keep up for much longer.

"Try keeping your voices down," Estol ordered, taking the lead. Firion could not see his face but it was likely the boy's usual preponderant frown had deepened considerably.

Firion nodded to Paul and Guy to show his agreement with Estol's statement before resting his hand on his knife pouch. Usually, he had two on hand for throwing and a sword for prolonged combat. He had been considering grabbing a bow before they left on their current mission but given the softer nature of a premier assignment he had believed it to be unnecessary. Of course, now that it came down to it, he wished he had the bow too. Fortunately, he had brought an extra two throwing knives to somewhat make up for it.

"Hold," Estol spoke up from the front, coming to an abrupt stop. The smoke was getting thick in the air, carrying with it the message that they were either closer than they had thought or that the fire had somehow spread despite the damp conditions. Given that the trees were dripping with condensation Firion felt the latter was improbable. It did not make much sense when no rain had penetrated into this area during the last storm, but he was not about to curse their fortune just because it confused him.

Then he heard it, a cry for help mingled with curses. Motioning to the others, he moved forward with whatever stealth his velocity could afford.

The source was now visible, an open blaze on top of a small wooden hut with many similar cases surrounding it. Six men in dark green cloaks were gathering whatever they could from the settlement, unheeding the origin of the cries. In the middle of the village there were two people, blindfolded and bound to a stake. One of them, a young man from what Firion could tell, was yelling out as many profanities upon the raiders as could come to mind.

Firion abandoned his pack and waited just long enough for Paul and Guy to catch up before freeing one of his throwing knives from his belt, sheath and all. Estol would be behind them by now. So long as they all attacked at once, there would be a chance that they could take all of the bandits down without bloodshed.

Winding a strip of cloth around the sheath and hilt of the knife to ensure the blade would not be exposed, Firion hurled the projectile at the closest man's head. The connection was clean and the victim stumbled back with only a muffled grunt. Guy rushed forward and caught him before he hit the ground, using him as the next thrown weapon onto two of his comrades.

This was enough to draw the attention of the group, who turned in unison to bring their weapons to bear on the newfound assailants. This was the opening Firion knew Estol was hoping for. Out of the forest behind them, the tracker emerged swinging a vine-like weapon over his head.

Two arrows loosed; one going wide due to Estol's intervention and the other sending Guy reeling as it entered his side. Firion immediately forgot all notion of non-lethal force and drew his sword. The bandits, still split in attention, never saw the blade that brought them to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Firion saw Estol dispatch the last of the group with two snaps of his weapon and a swift kick to the head. Not taking chances, Firion lifted his sword, ready to thrust it into his fallen foe.

"Firion!" Guy called out, staying Firion's hand a mere moment before the blade entered into the raider. "Let... let them be. Conlat ask for... no death."

The orders… "Do everything in your power to avoid the death of a human opponent," Firion recited. Switching to the flat of his blade, he delivered a solid smack to the downed man's head and sheathed his sword. Turning on his heel, he then went immediately to Guy's side. His brother had pulled out the arrow in the time it had taken him to dispatch their enemies, leaving a freely bleeding wound.

"How is he?" Estol asked, winding up his weapon as he crossed the groaning thieves.

"It's... not the worst we've faced," Firion assessed, wishing he had not left his pack on the wayside. "Get Paul and go fetch our supplies," he ordered, hoping the curative items had not been stolen in their absence. Strangely, he noted it was not nearly so hot now as it had been at the start of the battle.

"Our apologies for your trouble, but thank you for the rescue," the speaker, a girl with deep violet hair in a dark coat, approached slowly. "Neuhm will heal your friend, if you have no objections."

Firion paused, taken off-guard by the sudden appearance of the girl and the now keenly observed lack of flames in the village. "And... you are...?"

"Sorry about running off like that," Paul said, coming up beside the girl with a young man in a light brown traveler's cloak. "I figured saving these two from imminent immolation would fall within our mission profile. Who would've guessed they knew how to use magic?"

Firion then recalled the two persons who had been tied to a stake in the middle of town not more than a few minutes ago. So that was where Paul had been...

"Anyway, in the interest of your ally's health," the girl began again, "would you mind if my companion used white magic to heal him? I understand that magic can be a touchy subject with some."

Realizing they were asking if they could help Guy, Firion quickly got to his feet and stood back. "Please do. Our supplies for dealing with such matters are... elsewhere at the moment." What an odd twist of fate for Paul's opposing ambition to favor them so. In such a case though, could it truly be called opposing?

The man in the brown cloak approached, laying his hands on Guy's wound. Immediately, the bleeding ceased and the skin began to knit back together. "It is done," he announced, and returned to his companion's side.

Firion stared at his brother's side. What would have taken weeks through conventional methods had been healed faster than what even the application of a potion was capable of.

"My name is Cin-bre, by the way. And this is my brother, Neuhm." the girl introduced herself, "we were in a decisively unfortunate situation back there, so much so that one would wonder if the raiders knew of our presence."

"Agreed," Neuhm said, his ill-temper at the outcome easily apparent, "where do brigands like that learn spells of silence? The Mysidian arts travel far these days."

"As we are example of,"Cin-bre noted. It seemed entirely possible that she was either unaware of her brother's frustration or that she enjoyed exacerbating it. "There are more than a few of us who chose to abandon the homeland. Besides, we have also known for some time that Palamecians keep the art of magic alive within their own borders. It is entirely possible they uncovered the secrets to silencing on their own."

"Doesn't affect us in the least, now does it?" Estol commented wryly, returning with his pack. "What I'd like to know is why a bunch of thieves went through all the trouble of coming out to Walst."

"Because it hasn't got defense worth a goblin's gut, that's why," Neuhm stated, scowling at the fallen raiders.

Estol shrugged, "not usually. Under normal circumstances this place is full of monster hunters. It's only during lulls in the season that it loses its able bodied. Now would be one of those lulls. There is absolutely no way these six thugs took on a whole company of hunters."

"But that's just it," Cin-bre said. "This is only the looting party left by the main force. It was thirty strong, without emblem, and well-armed. It is highly likely that these six are not representative of the group's strength, particularly since you took them by surprise. "

Firion and Guy exchanged a grimace; if they had fared this badly when dealing with an off-guard low-level unit, it did not speak well for their future endeavors.

"Hold a moment," Paul told them, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. "If you're travelling from Mysidia, why are _you_ back in this valley instead of along the coast? Anywhere significant that you could be travelling to lies along that route, unless you're keen on the pains of mountain crossing."

"'Tis no business of yours," Neuhm replied curtly. "Least ways, you likely wouldn't understand."

"We wanted to retrieve something for our sister," Cin-bre informed them. "It was said that an ancient scroll concerning the control of tides had been found by a group of hunters. Since our sister is a sailor by trade, we thought it would be advantageous to procure it for her. Sadly, if it was here it was likely lost in the raid."

"Do you know where the hunters found it?" Firion inquired, beginning to survey the remnants of the village in a cursory attempt to determine the probability of this conclusion.

"That bit of information really is best kept secret," Cin-bre said apologetically. "But I haven't given up just yet. My brother and I shall search the ruins for the scroll; there is still a chance that it was missed."

"Best of luck then," Estol said, motioning to his companions. "We've got a full day ahead of us as well, so now we must part ways."

"Estol's right," Paul chimed in. "Time stands still for no man."

Firion saw Cin-bre crack a smile as she turned away to attend to her work, "perhaps not to your reckoning."

Guy squinted after the two Mysidians as they disappeared in the rubble while the group left to retrieve their belongings and continue on. "They… strange."

"Yes," Firion agreed, "but they were helpful. I wonder if we'll meet them again."

_And if next time we'll get a few answers._

* * *

><p>AN: Wow… making a shorter chapter did not make this come out sooner. Regardless, I think I'll stick to this format for at least three more chapters. Thank you for reading! Thank you to 123arcalas and xAkinaxChanx for favoriting this story, your support inspires me to press on despite writer's block. The next chapter is probably around the 50% mark already, so next time shouldn't be so long. Merry Christmas everyone!


	6. Kindred

**Final Fantasy II: Thorn's Edge**

By Chronic Guardian

**Chapter 6: Kindred**

Maria hugged her cloak a little tighter, ruing the effects of spending the night in the saddle. It seemed she had caught a chill from the coastal midnight breeze and her urgency to travel light had precluded the storage of treatment in her pack.

"Just a little further," she mumbled to her borrowed horse, approaching the gates of Altair. Leon had not entered too long ago, but it seemed worth the risk of running into him for a well-deserved rest at the inn. Besides, with the hood of her cloak up there would be a chance that Leon would not be able to recognize her at all.

The only inn in town was easy enough to find, just to the left inside the city gates. Maria slid out of the saddle, tied her mount to one of the handily provided posts, and staggered inside, wishing she had built up more resistance to the natural elements.

"One room, two… no, three hours," she told the clerk, tossing a small bag of gil in his direction. "If I gave you any excess you can return it afterwards."

Once in the room, she slipped out of the cloak and under the covers, curling up to facilitate heat generation. The dreamless sleep that followed was fulfilling, leaving her restored when she next opened her eyes.

In addition to the change of sun angle, the next thing she discerned were the voices from the lobby.

"One room for the night please, for four if you have it. Else I will require two."

"One room for four, second door on your left, sir."

Maria's eyes widened as she tried to remember if she had taken the first or second door when she had stumbled inside. Throwing the sheets over her head, she tried to lie perfectly still; with any luck, her thin frame would not make too much of a rise in the bedding.

The muffled sound of a door opening beyond the wall assured her that her hasty efforts were in vain: the customer had been assigned the other room.

She slowly extracted herself from the warm cocoon of fabric and sighed. Hiding under the covers like a child… she was admittedly pitiful in her conduct but life had not required further development of her stealth techniques. If all went well, this would continue to be the case. Leon, Firion, and Guy would eventually return home and they could be together again. That was exactly how it played out in her mind and she had not the heart to accept that her brothers would be gone forever.

Donning her cloak once more, Maria exited her room and headed for the counter.

"There you are, I was beginning to think you would oversleep," the clerk greeted her. "Here's your change. More than enough for a night's stay, should you change your mind. Altair can get a nasty chill blown in this time of year, and I would reckon you have no friends in town given your lodging here."

"…I'll think it over," she assured the man, unnerved by his insight. "May the care of the Creator watch over you."

The clerk smiled and shook his head, "may your Mysidian nonsense watch over you too. Speaking of which, a Mysidian mage set up shop in town not too long ago; you might want to check it out."

"Thank you," she said emphatically, doing her best to signal the end of the conversation. It would seem a moot point to argue that the difference between Mysidian belief and her actual reference. Taking her change and heading for the door, Maria drew up her hood and left the establishment behind in favor of the cobblestone afternoon alleys of the small town.

She had a vague idea of what she was after: first, of course, to not be sighted by Leon and second, nearly as important, to update her wardrobe. Last night had taught her a cruel lesson in underdressing for the occasion and she was determined to not be so disadvantaged on the return journey.

After about an hour, she had hunted down and haggled a full-length coat for thirty gil into her possession. Savoring the warm fabric against her skin, Maria took to the streets once more.

"Sounds like we've got our man." The familiar, confident voice of her brother resonated from down the street. "Now, for the alternate objective; any ideas?"

"Somewhere easily defensible, near the capitol, and well supplied by immediate resources. That's all the information Conlat gave us. It might be conspicuous to build a base in the midst of the wilderness, especially with a traceable flow of messengers, thus an existing establishment would be ideal because it masks traffic to and from the base. Personally, I would say that this town fits that description just fine; so long as we can find a site to build."

Maria pulled her hood a little lower over her face and walked on, trying to place the second voice. It was definitely one of Leon's men, but not the curious boy she had jumped in Gatrea.

"We could probably take on a quarter of town hall with proper authorization," Leon speculated. "I think that should be easy enough to procure. How quickly can we depart for Fynn?"

"Immediately, but spending the evening here seems a more palatable idea; especially since Warren has already paid for our rooms at the inn."

"I don't recall sending him to do such…" Maria could practically hear the frown on her brother's face. She was almost to the corner when Leon and his aide took the same turn. In the interest of remaining out of his way, she clumsily halted and pretended to examine the vine laden exterior of the outfitter's shop she had left.

"I sent him to do it while you were instructing Benjamin in what supplies we needed. He should have our packs stowed there for safe keeping."

"…On what authority do you act, Alexander?"

Maria heard herself inhale sharply at the menacing drop in Leon's tone. By a rather misfortunate coincidence, it seemed that Alexander heard it too. Glancing over in their direction, Maria became acutely aware of the boy's puzzled stare. Ducking her head, she hurriedly walked off down the street, doing her best to inconspicuously recover from the incident. Her best, however, was not very adept.

"Hey there, what are you doing?" Leon's voice boomed after her.

Involuntarily, her pace increased. Her fear was overcoming her, just as her father had warned her it would. Unfortunately, there was little enough to be done for it now. If she replied, Leon would almost certainly recognize her voice; if she tried to out run him then she would most certainly lose. What she needed was a hiding place he would not enter, and one that was nearby as he was quickly gaining on her.

The solution presented itself in a rather unsatisfactory manner. "You seem an intelligent young miss," the warm voice emanated from under the wide brimmed hat of a magus who had not been standing in her way a second ago. "Would you care to see my wares? I've some scrolls you might enjoy."

"On what subject?" Maria asked, trying to skirt around the man and his question.

"On something not commonly seen in these parts of the world," he chuckled, ushering her into his poorly lit shop and out of the streets. "Have you ever heard tell of magic, young miss?"

"I'm… not entirely familiar with the subject." _Only enough to know it's dangerous ground to tread on, _she added mentally, thinking back to the warning her parents had given her on pursuing such matters.

"Let me enlighten you then. Efiro Skita." A torch light ignited in the man's open hand. Maria gasped and stumbled backward over the clutter that occupied most of the interior.

"You just…"

The fire extinguished, leaving the previous dim candle light all by its lonesome and Maria still in shock.

"What you just saw is only the beginning. With practice you can accomplish tasks far beyond that of a street performer."

"… You're smirking, aren't you?" The question was more of a rhetorical stalling technique than a valid query but she still required time to process what had just happened.

"… Yes, I am. The name's Sanru, by the way." He offered his hand to help her up. "But back to business, I can offer you knowledge on the four basic spells of Mysidia at a most reasonable price. What do you say?"

The memory of freezing out in the wild without fire stung quite vividly, giving her the moment's hesitation necessary for Sanru to strike a bargain. "Here, I'll sell you that fire spell at a fifty percent discount: only fifty gil! Kindling gathering will be a thing of the past."

"Thirty gil," she said flatly, hoping it would be enough to deter him.

"Done," he declared, fishing a scroll out of his robes. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Biting her lip she reluctantly counted out thirty gil and followed through on her word.

"For another seventy gil I could throw in a cure scroll. Never again will you have to fear so desperately for your life on the dangerous roads of the world today!"

"No thanks," she told him hastily. "I think I've got enough to study at one time. May the care of the Creator watch over you."

"Thank you for your business; may we meet again, fair lady. I have a hunch you'll be quite a natural to this."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Your raven dark hair, there is a tinge of violet in it. Usually this color is associated with the Mysidian bloodline, which descended from ancient Perseria. "

"I see." _Sort of…_ What hair color had to do with being good at magic was beyond her, but so was the near entirety of the subject. However, she was more interested in getting out of the shop than having Sanru further indulge in loon lore. "See you, Sanru."

"Most assuredly, fair lady. If you ever again seek my assistance, I shall be here."

_Great, I now know exactly where not to look. _She smiled politely and twisted the door knob, stepping once again into the streets of Altair.

"Have a good chat?"

Her relief at her escape caught in her throat as it turned into realization that Leon had not left the premise. She really should have seen it coming, knowing the extremes of her brother's stubbornness.

"Feel like having another?" He continued, grabbing her by the arm and throwing back her hood.

He froze as her identity became fully apparent.

"Someone you know?" Alexander asked, cocking his head to the side as he examined both Leon's stance and Maria's look of utter horror at being caught.

"Alexander, go back to the others; take a group trip to the sundries shop and stock up a little," Leon ordered with slightly exaggerated articulation. "Our friend here is going to have a private conversation with me back at the inn."

"So… is she really a spy then?"

Leon's eyebrows lowered considerably. "Alexander!"

"Alright, sir! No need to get so upset," the boy seemed more annoyed than intimidated. "Have fun with your interrogation then."

"Good. I'll see you again in an hour."

Alexander nodded and reluctantly trotted off while Leon released his grip on Maria and began walking back to the inn. "Come on, sister. I think you owe me some form of explanation."

Maria sighed but followed obediently, "I guess so, brother."

* * *

><p>"It's not here," Neuhm growled, clenching his fists in frustration.<p>

"Calm down, brother," Cin-bre soothed, examining the hunter's tent once more, "for one who has chosen the path of the white mage you can be quite easily irritable. But it would appear you are correct, the scroll of tides is not here."

"Well we can't return to sister empty handed you know," Neuhm scolded her, looking through the abandoned packs for the umpteenth time. "Business is harsh. She needs this to get a competitive edge."

"Yes, we cannot fail our younger sibling. After all this time apart that would be an awful shame."

Neuhm grunted in agreement. "It's funny that only now we follow her lead and leave Mysidia behind."

For a good minute or five she stood there silently, watching her brother rummage through what had been left behind knowing that the bounty they sought would not be among it.

"Well… I can think of one place that we might find it," she finally mused, looking through the tent entrance to the mountains beyond.

"And where would that be?"

"Do you remember the tales of the Arcane Labyrinth, brother?"

"…" Neuhm slowly placed the pack he had been examining on the floor. "That's a dangerous place for two novice mages to venture into, sister."

She smiled as she stepped outside and adjusted her traveler's hat. "Don't worry, I think I know juuuust who to take with us."

* * *

><p>AN: Finally! This chapter actually benefited from the short format and followed at a most reasonable distance from its predecessor. I feel that this chapter was necessary for building up to Maria's character and role in the story, how it is different from the original, introducing magic into the group, and laying out the beginning of the first Arcane Labyrinth arc. For those who don't know, the Arcane Labyrinth is a location exclusive to the PSP version of Final Fantasy II. I am hoping to make good use of this "bonus dungeon" as a relevant point and possibly expand my horizons on Mysidian culture and its predecessor. Note that I am using "magic words" as opposed to incantations for the spells, that is why Sanru says "Enfiro Skita" rather than "Destruction of nature, gather in flame! Fire!" or what have you. This chapter is for Salacassera, who puts things concisely.


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